


Supernatural Drabbles

by luciferneedsconcent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Cain/Abaddon, Cain/Colette - Freeform, Castiel/Dean Winchester Drabble(s), Chuck is God, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Smut, God - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Imagery, Lucifer - Freeform, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Smut, Top Dean, Top Dean Winchester, balthazar - Freeform, castiel novak - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8560942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferneedsconcent/pseuds/luciferneedsconcent
Summary: A collection of drabbles I write based off of random spurs of creativity.If you would like to stay up to date with story updates, please follow my tumblr as I will post everything there! http://luciferneedsconsent.tumblr.com/





	1. Introduction

Hello! And welcome to my collection of _Supernatural_ drabbles. I can in no way state that these will be updated often, as they are written by ideas that randomly come to my mind. If you would like to submit a suggestion, please feel free to comment it below one of my chapters. I really look forward to bringing your imagines to life.

**Disclaimer: I will not get to every single suggestion. If I get an idea for it, then I will be more than happy to write it. However, if I find the topic to be quite bland, I will not write it. Thank you in advance for your understanding.**


	2. Dean's Worst Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel comforts Dean after he returns from a hard job.

**Dean’s Worst Days**

 

Pairing: [Destiel]

Rating: [PG]

Word Count: 1583

Type: Hurt x Comfort

Trigger Warnings: Instead of Cas, I’m spelling it Cass. 

Based off of: An idea I had but no idea how to start, and a dream I had of me comforting Dean.

 

\--

 

Castiel had waited for Dean to return home to the bunker all day, leading into the late evening. His legs were propped up on a tan ottoman as he leaned back into the rocking chair, reading his newspaper. The day’s stories were nothing too extreme, just a local bee farm losing some of their honey supply due to a bear issue. The room was cozy against the pouring rain drumming against the window, the droplets illuminated by the halo the moon gave them against its light. Castiel had lit a fire in the living room, drinking a mug of hot cocoa to relax. It had been awhile since he had lost his grace, and he was slowly getting accustomed to the lifestyle. He enjoyed the small things that his Father’s world gave to him. The world seemed different than his prior form. He never tasted every single molecule that made up the PB & J sandwich he would make anymore, and he could feel the warmth his mug gave off as he carefully held it in the palm of his hands. Cass loved the way he could feel the heat of his drink trickle down his throat, and heat up the rest of his body as he relaxed into the cushioned chair. More importantly however, he loved the way he could feel Dean now. Him and Dean had been on different frequencies before, always butting heads over what was right and wrong. Castiel could never understand how Dean felt, physically or emotionally. But all that was changed now. Now, instead of seeing all of the constellations that Dean was made up of, Cass could see his heart. Cass could see his emotion, feel Dean’s emotions in his own heart. Now he could understand on what level Dean truly was, instead of just seeing it and trying to understand. And to be quite honest, Castiel would much rather be a human than an angel, if it meant he got to be this way with Dean. If it meant being in perfect harmony, in perfect symphony with the older Winchester. Maybe if Cass ever got the chance, he could speak with his Father, ask him to bend every bit of Castiel’s genetic makeup so he finally could understand Dean, be with Dean, in every sense of the word. 

His thoughts were soon dismissed by the sound of the door to the bunker sliding open and banging against the wall behind it. He could hear the clanking of Dean’s heavy boots fall onto the metal stairway as he walked into the bunker. Despite the sound of the fire crackling in the pit, or the folding of the newspaper, the room was rendered silent. So silent, that even a mouse would find itself squeamish at the thought of its tiny paws making a soft pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter against the floors. Dean slid his black, duffel bag off of his shoulder and onto the floor by the living room table. Cass had gently placed his newspaper onto the stand beside him, and slowly stood up as his eyes asked if it would be alright to pull the Winchester into his arms to welcome him back. With a heavy sigh, and heart to match, Dean nodded. His body stayed still as Castiel swept across the floor to bring the taller man into a much needed embrace. It would be a lie for Cass to say that he hated the way he had to stand on the tips of his toes to be able to remotely reach Dean, but somehow he managed. Dean’s body language was easier to read than a picture book for Castiel. The way his face was creviced, showed that he had been defeated, that the hope in his heart was gone, that he just wanted to curl into a ball and die. And Cass knew this by the way Dean responded to the hug as well. With Castiel on the tips of his toes, gently resting his chin on the top of Dean’s shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around Dean; Dean showed no sign of reciprocating. Dean kept his body tense. He didn’t bury his face into Castiel’s neck like he normally would, or trap his angel into the tightest bear hug imaginable. If anything, he pulled away from Castiel, not wanting to ruin his clothes from all of the blood that painted his flesh and leather. 

No words needed to be shared between the two. It was as if they had connected telepathically, and could read each other through the colors that radiated from their brains. Castiel soon removed his grip from around Dean’s body, and slowly grazed his hands to hold onto Dean’s own. Once their fingers were intertwined, Cass began to tug him towards the bathroom. He gently sat Dean down on the head of the toilet while he drew a bath. He added bubbles and a rose petal scent, knowing Dean secretly appreciated the aroma the flower gave off, but not enough to admit he truly loved it, in fear of ruining his reputation of being a true manly man. When Castiel finally deemed the temperature suitable for his lover, Dean stood up. Cass had turned on the heel of his foot so he could help remove the garments that added to Dean’s misery. First, Castiel slipped off the infamous leather jacket; how it never seemed to stain was beyond his understanding. He delicately placed the jacket on the sink before moving to slide off Dean’s plaid blue shirt. As with his previous gesture, Castiel placed the plaid shirt on top of the jacket. He then lifted the black tee shirt up and off of Dean’s body, gently placing it with the others. Castiel then proceeded to slide to his knees, beginning to untie Dean’s shoelaces while Dean worked off his belt. Dean would lift a foot up so Castiel could pull the shoe and sock off for each one, before he would raise up again. Dean’s jeans slipped down to his ankles, making him move to step out of them. He bent down to grab them, and handed them to Castiel who had collected the other articles of clothing to clean. Cass then left the bathroom, leaving Dean to his privacy while he slid down his briefs and stepped into the bathtub. Cass had gone to throw Dean’s clothing into the wash, and rushed to the kitchen to start heating up a frozen pie in the oven. When the oven was finally preheated, Castiel slid the pie inside, and walked back to the laundry room to pull some pajamas out of the dryer for Dean to slip into once he had finished with his bath. Castiel knocked softly on the bathroom door before he entered, carefully laying the clothing on the sink. He then moved to sit next to the bathtub as he leaned over to grab a soft washcloth. The angel began to softly rub the cloth against Dean’s skin, doing his best to clear off all of the dried blood from Dean’s outing. Cass planted a soft kiss on Dean’s shoulder as he tried to wash away all of the hurt from his body and mind. 

Soon Castiel pulled the drain on the bath, leaving Dean to lay still as Cass turned the shower head on and waited for the water to turn from cold to warm. When it was perfect, Cass began to wash the remaining bubbles from Dean’s weathered skin. He then moved to wash Dean’s hair, careful not to get soap in his eyes. As Dean’s newly clean body stood up, Castiel turned the water off and stepped back to grab a towel. He slowly slid the towel across Dean’s impressive build, making sure that not a single droplet of water remained. In the distance, the alarm on the oven rang, indicating the pie was done. With a nod from Dean, Castiel dismissed himself to tend to the pie while Dean remained in the bathroom to pull the warm clothes onto his skin. The Winchester stretched once the warmth trapped him into a comforting hug, and left the bathroom with a sigh, slowly trudging into the living room where Cass awaited him with a slice of apple pie in hand. Although it was his favorite, Dean couldn’t bring himself to smile. The weight of the world fell heavily on his shoulders, and he could just barely manage to guide himself to the rocking chair and put his feet on the ottoman as Castiel had done so previously. The pie was soon lowered into Dean’s grasp, causing him to pick up the fork and shovel the bite into his mouth. It was his favorite, but even the flavor couldn’t seem to mend his shattered heart. Castiel had disappeared to make Dean a mug of coffee, not wanting to give him beer to mend his sorrows. It wasn’t healthy, and Castiel wanted to take him away from the habit. As Castiel returned from brewing the coffee, he turned on a record player to an instrumental of ‘Hey Jude’ before bringing the mug and gently resting it on the newspaper he had read earlier. When Dean seemed to be relaxed, Castiel walked across the room to put another log on the fire. He took the poker and made sure the fire engulfed it in flames before he moved to stand behind Dean’s back as he began to massage all of the weight off of his already heavy shoulders.  


	3. Cookies (Destiel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically a cute Destiel Christmas drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes I know it's not christmas but I'm in the spirit. Fight me.  
> Also, if you want to know when I update, follow me on Tumblr!

Characters: [Dean Winchester, Castiel Novak, Sam Winchester {mentioned}]

Word Count: 1971

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: PG

Type: Fluff//Drabble

 

 

* * *

  
  


So Castiel wasn't the cleanest roommate. But he was small and cute, and he easily had Dean wrapped around his little finger. It was almost as if he had ‘SUCKER' written on his forehead, and in the fine print it would read ‘for Castiel Novak only.’ 

 

Castiel's name was a household term to the Winchester brothers. His infamous ideas constantly got them into trouble. Sam would always raise his eyebrows towards Dean when Cass would visit with him and have “An epiphany, Dean!” And all it would take to make the older Winchester give in would be the famous grin and bug eyes from the smaller male. It drove Dean insane. Cass knew he was cute. It wasn't a secret. And more importantly, he could read the fine print of Dean's invisible SUCKER tattoo on his forehead. 

 

To be fair, however, Dean wasn't the best at keeping his crush a secret. He would always steal glances at Castiel and get caught in some sort of trance. His heart would freeze and go a thousand miles an hour whenever Cass would hold his gaze. And the way Cass would lick his lips and look Dean's body over slowly-well, that was cruel. Not to mention all of the ‘accidental' touches Castiel would just-so-happen to graze across Dean's skin whenever he walked by. And yes, it was always on skin. Cass made sure of it. Even the ghosting of Castiel's movements around Dean's body was enough to send shivers down his spine, and fire coursing through his bones. 

 

Enter now, a crisp December evening, while gentle snowflakes floated against the windowsill. Dean and Castiel were intertwined on their sofa underneath a thick, wool blanket. Castiel was positioned between Dean's legs with his back pressing against Dean's chest. Dean was propped against the armrest of the sofa, his arms lazily wrapped around Castiel's waist while his face was nuzzled into the smaller man's neck. Somehow, Castiel had managed to get Dean to wear an ugly Christmas sweater. It was red with a white and grey etched Grumpy Cat in the middle. It had ‘Meowy Christmas' stitched in white, and Castiel decided to add his own ‘personal touch' by stitching a Rudolph nose over Grumpy Cat’s and some Christmas lights. Needless to say, Dean would be caught dead wearing it in public. On the other hand, Castiel was wearing a ridiculously bright green Christmas sweater. It had red reindeer lining it, with snowflakes separating each row of the deer. Some white and silver pom poms were placed around the sweater as well, possibly supposed to be snowballs. Dean didn't know. Not to mention, Cass had on an elf hat (complete with the ears), and managed to get Dean to wear a Santa one. They were cuddled in front of the television, watching a rerun of  _ It's Christmas Charlie Brown! _ while a fire cracked beneath the screen. The room smelled of fresh pine, since Castiel insisted that they have a tree in their small room. It had been decorated in blue and silver tinsel with an assortment of glass ornaments. It also had rainbow lights since,  _ “Rainbows make everything better, Dean. It's been scientifically proven!” _

_ “Yeah? By who?” _

_ “By me.” _

_ “Well then, guess I can't argue with that logic.” _

_ “You really can't!” _

Dean was listening to the movie while it played on the screen. He was much too focused on taking in Castiel's scent of gingerbread cologne. He didn't even know gingerbread cologne existed. Regardless, the scene might have seen a bit too intimate, but the heater was broken (it really wasn't, Dean just turned the dial all the way down and insisted they cuddle “For  _ survival _ , Cass”). It was the least they could do, right? Whilst Dean accidentally-on-purpose lightly left kisses on Castiel's neck, Castiel was editing on his computer. He had gotten Dean to film ‘ _ A Night Before Christmas _ ' with him so he could send it to his family as a Christmas gift. They made a rather incredible acting duo. If however, incredible meant disastrous. The pair had printed out copies of the story and made their own cardboard set to act around. Since they couldn't quite remember everything, they made cue cards to help them with their stage directions so they would know where to be when said line was read. Which, of course, explains the fancy sweaters. They needed costumes, and it was as close as they could get. Dean wouldn't have done it if it weren't for the asker being Castiel; but at the end of it all, he thought he was a kick-ass Saint Nicholas (and about eight cardboard reindeer-what? Cass gave him puppy-dog eyes and a lip quiver. What was he supposed to do? Turn him down!? Absolutely not). During the middle of Castiel's editing process, his stomach had emitted a low growl. Dean smiled into Cass' neck when he heard it, the vibrations had rattled against his own body as well. 

“I think someone's hungry.” Dean teased, lifting his nose from Castiel's gingerbread skin.

Cass saved his document and closed the lid to his laptop. He removed his headphones from his ears and shifted the machine to rest on the coffee table. “I can't work on an empty stomach.” he stated. Why couldn't he just say he was hungry? Don't dodge the statement, gosh. Castiel pulled the blanket off of their bodies, making them shiver. He slipped his feet into a pair of bee slippers while Dean stood up. Dean wasn't going to just bare the cold. And he especially was not going to let Castiel do it either. Being the noble Winchester, he tugged Cass back by his wrist and wrapped the blanket around their cold bodies. They weren't wearing pants, only fuzzy socks to keep their toes warm. The blanket was needed. 

“Dean…” Castiel hummed. Dean had wrapped an arm around his waist as they carefully sauntered into the kitchen. 

“Mhm?” Dean responded, hot breath panting onto Cass' rosy cheek. 

“What're you doing?”

“Keeping you warm.”

“It's not that cold.”

“Baby, it's cold outside.”

“We can use the oven to heat the kitchen.”

“Baby, it's cold outside.”

“That's why I'm staying in.”

“Mind if I move in closer?”

“You're already in my personal space.”

“At least I can say that I tried.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“What's the sense in hurting my pride?”

“Well if you don't ask, there's no way of getting an answer.” Castiel pointed out with a smirk. Dean froze, figuratively of course, and Castiel stepped into the kitchen. After he recomposed himself, he followed into the kitchen after Castiel, who was pulling numerous bags and packages out of the pantry and refrigerator. Dean leaned against the doorframe as he watched Castiel finish putting everything on the counter. 

“Heya!” Cass grinned.

“That's it?” Dean questioned. Castiel ripped open a bag of flour and poured some into a bowl. 

“That's what?” He asked innocently, cracking two eggs in the bowl as well.

“‘ _ If you don't ask there's no way of getting an answer _ .’” Dean mimicked, watching Castiel with a raised eyebrow. 

Cass poured some milk and sugar into the bowl and grabbed a whisk with a blush. “It's not like what I said was a lie.”

Dean took a step closer. Cass blushed harder and looked away as he ripped open a bag of chocolate chips. 

“Cass?”

“Hmm?”

Dean was now standing right next to him. “What did you mean by that?” his voice was low.

Castiel squirmed beneath his breath. Dean took this as his chance to put an arm around him. “C-ould you whisk the chocolate chips in? I'm not strong enough to mix it all in completely.”

Dean didn't hesitate to push Castiel into a corner. “What did you mean by that?” he repeated. 

Castiel bowed his head sheepishly, trying to hide the profound blush that had now spread from his cheeks to his entire face. “I just-uhm…” Cass paused to clear his throat. Dean's eyes scanned over Castiel's movements carefully. “I've been waiting for you to ask me out.” He barely managed to squeak. Dean froze once more. His eyes darted to anywhere besides Castiel, who was now scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Oh..” was all that Dean could conjure to speak. He definitely didn't expect to hear that. Castiel bit his lip. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything I thought you were-” Cass' sentence was cut short by Dean's index finger tilting his chin up so they could stare into each other's eyes. Now it was Dean's turn to smirk. Castiel squirmed underneath his now loving gaze. “I am.” Dean responded, answering the question. Castiel smiled in relief, standing up on the tips of his toes to lean in and close the gap between them. 

“So would you like-”

Dean nodded, leaning his head in to be closer to Cass'. Their noses were just barely touching. Cass decided that he should make the final move, and was met by a snowball of flour being squished against his mouth and a smirk to rival his own. 

“Dean!”

Dean giggled and pulled apart from him. 

“We were having a moment!” 

More giggles. 

Castiel stomped over to Dean, who was now mixing the ingredients in the bowl. 

“That wasn't fair!” he argued.

“Neither was leading me on for months and months knowing damn well that I liked you.” Castiel blushed profoundly. 

“I didn't.” he bowed his head. 

“And by the way your head moved like that, I know that that's a damn lie.”

Castiel blushed more and Dean grabbed a cookie sheet and spread some aluminum foil over it. Cass rolled the dough into balls and placed them evenly onto the sheet before slipping them into the already preheated oven. 

“Soooo..” Castiel hummed once they were in, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

“So.” Dean repeated, stretching his arms so that his palms rested on the counter. Castiel took a cautious step towards him, an innocent smile on his lips. Dean watched Castiel step towards him, and smiled down at his roommate, who was now wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist.

“So I was thinking…”

“-Well that’s not a good thing.” Dean joked, earning a nudge.

“I was thinking that since we already like each other we should probably-”

“-Be boyfriends? I agree.” Dean smiled down at Castiel, who was returning the same smile, cheeks rosy as ever.

“I was going to suggest going on a date.”

“Dude, we were just cuddling on the sofa. I think we’re way past dating.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Well if this makes us boyfriends, I think we should seal our relationship with a kiss.”

Dean pursed his lips as he pretended to consider the option. When he deemed it a good idea, he grinned. “Come here then.” He blushed. 

Castiel leaned into Dean, and soon threw a flour snowball against his lips just as he had done previously. 

“Cass! -oh you’re  _ definitely _ getting it!” Castiel tried to run away, but Dean had quickly grabbed him by the waist and spun him around so that his back was pressed against the wall. 

Castiel squirmed beneath him, but Dean didn’t let him go. He kept Cass in the corner while he grabbed the bag of flour and poured it over Castiel’s head.

A few minutes later, and both of the men were covered head to foot in flour. Along with their skin, the cupboards, floor, and practically the whole entire kitchen was now decorated in flour. Dean was now laying on the floor with Castiel on top of him, almost as if he were a mattress. Cass had his arms wrapped around Dean’s neck, and Dean had his hands resting softly on Castiel’s sides. Their eyes were closed, and their lips were moving softly against each other. Christmas was pretty good with Cass.


	4. I Don't Need Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt that was given to me to write for the Unnatural Writers club on Supernatural Amino.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to request a prompt, you can request it through my Tumblr http://luciferneedsconsent.tumblr.com/

**“I don’t need romance.”**

 

Written by: CasDean?

Characters: [Chuck{God}, Lucifer]

Paring: [None]

Word Count: 1001

Rating: T/PG

Team A

Prompt: “I don't need romance, I have…”

**\---**

 

The pit was dark, gloomy, every bit of disgusting that mankind had ever brought or thought into existence. The stone walls seemed to ooze with whatever filth was kicked off into the sewers, and wasn’t deemed good enough to be re-filtered back into the everyday life of human existence. This was where Lucifer was stationed; the very bottom of the celestial plane, locked out of heaven and earth for as long as he bore the forbidden Mark of Cain. 

It wasn’t his fault that he was entrusted with the Mark. His father had given it to him to keep his unruly sister at bay. The Darkness was a threat to the beginning times of creation, and God needed his Archangels, his children, to help lock her away. At the time, Lucifer was God’s favorite, and not to mention the strongest Archangel known to walk on the astral plane. But with great power, came free will. God had given it to his children just as he had given it to his creation. It was his one last final bow from the stage of holy ruling before he zapped out and took refuge on earth.  With this free will, God asked his children to love his creation more than his angels loved him. The angels were meant to protect his creations, and help guide them through their journeys. Through thorough observation, Lucifer quickly came to the conclusion that free will was a disaster for the human race, and he went to speak with his father to dispute it. After a long, and painful argument, Lucifer ended up with a shattered heart. All he did was love his father, and cherish everything he had made. His only crime was loving his father a little too much, and now his father was pissed. In what might have been seen as a temper tantrum, Lucifer rounded up his most noble brothers and sisters. He chose the ones that had always stuck by his side, no matter what the outcome of whatever civil war would turn out to be. These angels fell to earth, trading their halos for horns and grace for demon blood.  

These fallen angels took on a new name, a purer name. They called themselves demons to the Christian believers. In Greek they were known as daemons, but they felt that whatever they called themselves, they would always be known as malignant spirits that would capture and control the souls of those who believed in their ‘heavenly, and just Father’ who by his teachings in his several issues of ‘self help’ books, were deemed unclean and sent to Hell. Lucifer was the ruler of these evil spirits, he was practically their God. He brought light to them, therefore his name being Lucifer, or Morningstar. Morningstar was given to him because he was seen as being cast from the heavens, which he had been, over a silly little dispute with his God. 

But all of this would be pushed aside, come the year 2014. A loud rattling had been heard all over the angel and demon radiowaves. As the rattling crescendoed, a loud bang had been heard throughout all of the planes. It was the Darkness. And she was back.  It had been several months, but Lucifer had used the break in the pit to sneak his way back into Sam Winchester’s head. Night after night, he would send Sam visions, making him believe that God was sending all of this juicy information to him. But poor little Sammy was wrong. But now, here he was, standing in a metal cage with the younger Winchester staring down at him, nearly breaking down in tears at the thought of his one hope of redemption from God was all a lie. 

Lucifer couldn’t fathom the fact that he had gotten out of the cage. Castiel was as gullible as he was in love with Dean Winchester. Nonetheless, it was fair to say that he didn’t expect to come face-to-face with his father. Especially after he was casted out. Yet here he was, sitting across from his father in a rather too-close-for-comfort way. God had waved his hand, casting the Winchesters into another room so that they wouldn’t be able to disrupt this most important meeting. 

“Lucifer, you look well.” God spoke smoothly, calmly, as if there wasn’t anything the matter between them.

“Gee, thanks pop! I’ve been using this new moisturizer on my vessel!” He responded sarcastically. “Cut the crap, Father.” Lucifer’s tone had shifted drastically, into a more menacing one. 

“Lucifer, please.” God’s voice was pleading. “Just hear me out.”

“Hear you out!?” Lucifer snapped. “Like how you ‘heard me out’ from Heaven? My home!”

God sighed. “What would you have done, son?” he asked. “You disobeyed my orders.”

Lucifer was silent at the first question. “You did this to me!” He snapped. “You gave me the Mark! You knew what it would do to me!”

“You’re right.” God agreed. “I wasn’t supposed to have favorites. But you were mine. I gave you the Mark because you were my favorite, and you were the strongest, and I thought you could handle it.” 

Lucifer sighed contently. “Now was that so-”

“-But you were corrupted, Lucifer. You have always been a malign being.”

Lucifer was silent-for once.

“I often wonder if I ever showed you too little, or too much love. Sometimes I wonder that the way you turned out is my fault.”

Lucifer scoffed. “You were the one who created me. I think you would be the one to know that bit of information.” He stated, matter-of-factly. 

God sighed once more. “What made you so cruel, Lucifer?” He asked, genuinely intrigued. “I feel as though you’ve missed something in your lifespan that has made you this way.”

“Missed something?” Lucifer repeated, raising his eyebrows as if to question the statement. “Like what?”

God shrugged. “I don’t know, romance?” 

“Romance!?” Lucifer chuckled mischievously. “I don’t need romance, I have the souls of the dammed to keep me company.” 


	5. Beekeeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel learns how to handle his penitence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A New Beginning 
> 
> If you want updates and more dumb shizzle to read, follow me on Tumblr!  
> http://luciferneedsconsent.tumblr.com/

**BeeKeeping**

 

_Characters: [Castiel, Cain, Dean Winchester, Crowley{mentioned}]_

_Pairing: [none]_

_Word Count: 1836_

_Rating: M//PG-13_

_Prompt: A New Beginning_

_Trigger Warnings: Major character death, implied depression_

**\------------------------------------**

 

“What are you doing here?” Dean questioned. His lips pulled into a smirk while his eyes flashed black. He held the First Blade tightly in his hand, it being completely stained in a deep red liquid. Although he was much stronger now than when he was a human, Dean fixed his posture to make himself appear his strength against the all-powerful angel.

 

“You’ve gotten too powerful. You erased the planet. You know why I am here, Dean.” Castiel spoke smoothly. His eyes had turned colors, changing his vessel’s regular blue eyes into a much brighter form. The pupils had turned a light blue, while the edges were a much deeper color. His grace was bubbling in the pit of his vessel’s stomach, urging Castiel to lunge forward, though he stayed back.

 

Dean twirled the blade in his hand, feeling along each of the sharpened teeth on the blade turning his fingers red as well. “Oh, somebody isn’t happy.” Dean snickered to himself, throwing the blade to the ground and letting it land tip first on the terrain. His eyes returned to normal while his glance shifted from the blade to Castiel, opening his arms widely as if he were going to accept a hug.

 

Castiel’s heart shattered into a million pieces at Dean’s words. He loved Dean with all of his heart, always protected him when necessary. They had a profound bond, one to break every single barrier across and form of astral and physical plane. “Do you remember when you were human? I made a promise to you, that if you ever got this bad and erased the planet, I would kill you. There’s only two of us now, Dean.” His eyes though piercing, held a certain softness in them. Cass’ features weren’t tight or clenched the way that Dean’s were. Sure, he was livid that he had allowed Dean to get this bad. He was annoyed that Dean had escaped any means of reviving him, but that was in the past, and he had to own up for his mistakes. That’s what _his_ Dean would want. His Dean never wanted to get this bad, and never would if given the chance. But this Dean was completely different. This Dean found peace in killing. This Dean found purity in hurting the little guy. And this was Castiel’s mess to clean up. He knew that much, and it killed him to think about doing the right thing versus the consequence. His Dean never wanted this life, and would never. Castiel owed him that. To save him once and for all.

 

“And what are you going to do, Cass? Smite me? I’m hopped up on every form of demon blood known to the Earth.” Dean responded, his tongue flicked against his cheek as he awaited a response from Castiel.

 

Castiel sighed heavily, bowing his head in regret. “No, Dean. I’m going to make you feel penitence.” It was his calling, he knew he had to do it. The grace inside of him coursed all throughout his veins, turning his blood hot with fire as it powered him up like a machine. Castiel’s next movements rivaled the speed of light. As quickly as he could heal someone, he had manifested closer to Dean, grabbing onto the palm of his hand tightly and unleashing every single grain of angels grace he could contain across Dean’s body. The two creatures fought each other, fighting to be the strongest. What could only be described as electricity transferred between the two of them; Dean’s made out of the grime sucked from each crevice of the pit of hell, Castiel’s being the weight of heaven. At the end, there was only one victorious winner. The light of heaven was no match for the demon inside of Dean, sending him falling to the ground. Cass held onto his hand tightly, urging him to get up. But there was no use. Dean had been burned inside and out, his skin turning to ash the second he made landfall. Castiel fell to his knees beside Dean, holding onto the man he once knew. A black smoke surrounded him, and a burning sensation could be felt itching on his skin. Cass’ gaze turned downward, his nails scratching at the burned scar on his forearm. His eyes widened, jaw dropping in surprise. He had contracted the infamous Mark of Cain.

 

                                                                       ---

 

Castiel wasn’t the same after Dean’s death, (this being generously put, of course). He had let all care go to the wind. His vessel’s appearance changed drastically. What was once a dashing, young man turned into what could only be described as a deplorable man. He had dark bags underneath his eyes, and the palest skin to ever be seen. His hair was completely askew, tangled in knots and cowlicks far beyond what the eye could see. What was once a neatly trimmed scruff grew into a crabgrass of fur bordering along Castiel’s neck and mouth. Not to mention the tears in his cloth weathered away like the sediment on rocks constantly being hit by salty waves.

Castiel was paying the price of wiping out his only remaining friend. Everything in his being told him to go back and reverse his decision. The Mark whispered to him every waking moment of his now depressed lifestyle. ‘Go back, Castiel. Save him. Bring him back. Let him rise!’ Castiel only ignored the temptation, knowing the Mark had grown fond of its previous owner. As much as it pained him to live a life without his Winchester, he knew he couldn’t return. If he did return to Dean’s death site, he would let his heart take flight and revive the only man who could make him feel every emotion known to the existence of man. So he kept walking. Castiel walked until the soles of his shoes wore out.

As each day went by, the power of the Mark grew stronger than ever. Cass knew it wouldn’t be long before the darkness would start to take her toll on his frail heart, and he sought out help. Though he wasn’t fond of the demon, he had contacted Crowley. He needed the whereabouts of a specific being, and Crowley was the only one to seem to know where to find him. It wasn’t long before Crowley delivered the information to Castiel, and with a heavy heart, Castiel departed, in search of his redemption.

Avidly following the directions he was given, Castiel soon crossed over into a state called Missouri. He walked a few miles, stumbling onto a hidden pathway and to the gravel road. There, he had clearly been expected. A man stood before him, leaning against a wire fence, long hair blowing in the wind. He wore dark clothing from what Castiel could tell, but had facial hair to combat Cass’ own.

“You look weary, traveler.” The man spoke softly. “At least that’s what I would say if I didn’t know any better.” He pushed his back from the fence and stepped over to Castiel, who had clutched at the irritation when it had begun to burn nearing its original owner.

“Please, help me!” Castiel gasped out. The man who knew first hand of its powers grabbed Castiel’s hand, removing it from the scar and looking down at it.  

“It’s just as I thought.” The man spoke, removing his grip from Castiel.

“What can I do?” Castiel’s voice strained to ask, quickly regretting it once a hand had slapped him across his cheek.

“The Mark does as she wants.” The man stated.

“Cain, please!” Castiel begged once more, earning a daggering stare from the man himself.

“What do you want, Castiel?” Cain spat, his eyebrows narrowing on his weakened frame.

“I don’t want this!” Castiel sobbed, eyes turning puffy while his eyes filled with salty tears.

Cain raised an eyebrow, listening closely to what Castiel had to offer. “I can’t live with this burden, Cain! Every hour all I hear is it calling to me!” He fell to his knees, clutching onto Cain’s mighty hand.

Though he was a tough man, he was also a sentimental one. Knowing the mark and her afflictions, Cain pulled Castiel to his feet, a softer look on his features.

“What you need, Castiel, is a new beginning, a new life, if you will.” Cain stated simply.

Castiel’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “Wha-what do you mean?”

Cain released his grip from Castiel once he was able to stand on his own. “Seclude yourself, Castiel.” Cain’s tone was strict, almost demanding as he made his point. “The more people you’re around-though it would be difficult if they weren’t all murdered- the more the mark is going to call for you. It wants blood, Castiel. And if it gets fed, it gets stronger.”

Castiel rolled his lips in, trying to understand.

“You need to take up something simple. Something you enjoy.” Cain stated.

Castiel thought a moment. “What did you do?”

Cain smiled softly, looking over his shoulder and pointing to a few white boxes in the distance. “I keep bees.”

For the first time in a while, Castiel’s eyes lit up. “Show me.”

 

                                                                   ---

Cain taught Castiel everything he needed to know about Beekeeping. He informed Castiel about how hives should only be placed about three feet or so from whatever garden he wanted pollinated. Bees only travel about five miles for pollination due to any wing damage or weather influences, and that’s why Cain recommended they stay close to the hives. Castiel also learned that bees constantly-mainly the drones- fly in and out of the hives, so keeping them in an area away from animals will result in fewer-if any- stings.

When the student had finally become the master, Castiel parted from Cain and his small abode. The beings bid their ados, and from then on, Castiel had found his own place to stay. He converted the convenience store where he once worked -the same one where Dean had picked him up from- into his own house. Castiel rebuilt it entirely, using spare parts and furniture from other places in the ghost towns surrounding him. Coincidentally, there was a flower shop not too far from where he had created his new house, and he constantly frequented the shop for fertilizers and seeds. He traveled to the nearest bee farms and collected their hives that were overflowing with honey. Cass had attached a trailer to the back of Dean’s old Impala and drove around collecting as many as he could fit around his new environment. His new life wasn’t so shabby, but it was definitely lonely.


	6. Note to Self || Gabriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel writes a note to himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: [Gabriel, Lucifer{mentioned}]  
> Pairing: [none]  
> Word Count: 1285  
> Rating: M/PG-13  
> Team A  
> Prompt: Note-to-self  
> Triggers: drugs, alcohol, light violation of physical misconduct, abuse (human and animal{mentioned})

_ Lucifer, you're my brother. And I love you. But you are a great big bag of dicks.  _

 

_ Wait, what did you just say to me?  _

 

_ Look at yourself! Boo hoo! Daddy was mean to me, so I'm gonna smash up all his toys.  _

 

_ Watch your tone.  _

 

_ Play the victim all you want. But you and me? We know the truth. Dad loved you best. More than Michael, more than me. Then he brought the new baby home and you couldn't handle it. So this is all just one big temper tantrum. Time to grow up.  _

 

_ Gabriel, if you're doing this for Michael...  _

 

_ Screw him. If he were standing here, I'd shiv his ass too.  _

 

_ You disloyal--  _

 

_ Oh, I'm loyal. To them!  _

 

_ Who? These so called Gods?  _

 

_ To people, Lucifer. People  _

 

_ So you're willing to die, for a pile of cockroaches. Why?  _

 

_ Because Dad was right. They are better than us.  _

 

_ They are broken. Flawed! Abortions.  _

_ Damn right they're flawed. But a lot of them try. To do better, to forgive. And you should see the Spearmint Rhino! I've been riding the pine a long time. But I'm in the game now, and I'm not on your side, or Michael's. I'm on theirs.  _

 

_ No one makes us do anything.  _

 

_ I know you think you're doing the right thing, Gabriel. But I know where your heart truly lies.  _

 

\---

 

Gabriel knew damn well about how flawed God’s creations were. When he first sought out refuge on Earth, he had understood why Lucifer hated humanity so much. He was homeless, living with nothing but the tattered clothing on his back from his great fall. His body was bruised, deep cuts covering him head to toe. When he crash landed, he had been damaged, unable to repair himself for some time. He would roam the alleyways in search of a place to stay; sometimes even coming across a tunnel, only to inevitably be chased out by some low lifes who were high on anything they could come across. He would get beaten, screamed at, and whenever he tried to seek some help he wouldn’t even get people to stare him in the eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was because they were heartless, though his Father made them with their own hearts and blood and sympathy. Was he too ugly to be looked at? Too damaged? 

 

Gabriel ended up living as a renegade. How could Heaven serve them? People were horrible. If anyone just needed help, they would turn a blind eye and pretend as if they never saw it coming. People were heartless, if someone was being robbed, no one would jump in and retrieve the wallet or purse. Even the “protectors” of the people were corrupt. The officers of the law would unjustly use their tasers and guns for what they believed was “the greater good” when they hadn’t any suspicion of criminal intent. People would drug each other, touch each other when it wasn’t agreed upon. They would lie, cheat, and steal. They would kill one another over a loaf of bread, they gave no thought about the others in their lives. Humans didn’t care if they spat in your face, broke your bone--if you were lucky they would make your death quick and easy. They loved to torture, craved the overflow of blood on their hands. They always looked for newer, more exciting ways to end someone’s life. They would drown, burn at the stake, stretch a body so far that the limbs would rip off. They would have wars in God’s name, but failed to realize that wasn’t what God wanted in the first place. Humans were merciless. 

 

For a time, Gabriel considered joining Team Lucifer. He never saw humans as anything to be proud of, never saw them as something to brag about. He hated his Father for creating them, for forcing the angels to love humanity more than they loved him. Why would they love something so dishonorable? Something so broken far beyond repair when they could love something so perfect? Why did God have to get up and leave, making them deal with the human dickery--or so how Gabriel put it.

 

Humans killed what didn’t need to be murdered, they destroyed God’s green planet to build factories that polluted his fresh air. Humans made amazing creatures extinct, and lock them up for entertainment. Humans forced animals to push the limits of their very bone structure just to put on a circus act. They made elephants paint, lions stand on balls, bears wear clothing--it was torture, named as the Ringling Brothers Circus. If he could, he would have put humanity up for adoption, but he knew he needed to give them a chance, to understand why God loved them above all--above Lucifer of all. 

 

So Gabriel headed out, he was able to repair himself, and with a heavy heart he tried to understand humans as best he could. He read poetry, listened to historical podcasts. He visited churches, and temples, and mosques, learning about the love that humanity held. He attended peace gatherings--nearly weeping at the love and support he found. He watched firemen rescue kittens from trees, dogs from burning buildings and humans from rubble. Gabriel listened to music, from classic to pop. He went to museums and learned what the humans had discovered, from dinosaurs to artworks from Leonardo da Vinci to new modern. Gabriel visited soup kitchens and homeless shelters, he saw how whenever they messed up they would apologize. He watched people fall in love and get married. He saw the unconditional love between humans and their offspring, he saw how much they loved, and had hope. Humans will always have hope. That’s what he learned. No matter how horrible their life got, no matter how badly they were treated, no matter if no one believed in them, no matter any and all injustices that had slandered their names--they always had hope. The humans always pushed through. They would protest for a better world, they would believe in themselves--in their future, they ignored the horrible beliefs against them and they would carry on with weight piled so high on their shoulders, they were sure to collapse. But they didn’t. They kept marching, they kept defending what they thought was right. In times of heartbreak and loss, they would unite as a world and spread love far beyond Gabriel’s wildest dreams.  

 

Humanity had faith. They had faith that they could fix what was broken, they had faith in themselves. They believed that they could overcome their obstacles, with just a little bit of elbow grease. Most of all, they tried. If they were wrong, or mistreated, if they were abused, they would always try to right themselves, to forgive what had happened to them. They tried to learn from their mistakes, and teach others about these consequences. Gabriel couldn’t fathom how much generosity humanity held. If someone needed shelter, the humans would gladly lend them a room. 

  
Gabriel learned then that Heaven and Hell couldn’t be an option. If Lucifer were to win, darkness would seep over the world and destroy what good that was in it. If Michael won, the planet would be wiped clean of any and all existence. Gabriel couldn’t side with his stuck-up brothers, they didn’t even care about humanity. To them, humanity was just something that would have to pay the price. From then on Gabriel made a note to himself, to protect humanity at all costs. Sure, they were broken, and flawed. But they did try, and they did their best to forgive. That was worth saving to Gabriel, and he would gladly give up his life to side with humanity.  _ His  _ greater good.


	7. Elf on the Shelf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but I am obsessed with writing about John Winchester being a good father before Mary died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: [John Winchester, Mary Winchester, {infant!} Sam Winchester, {four!year old} Dean Winchester]  
> Pairing: [John and Mary Winchester]  
> Word Count: 1621  
> Rating: T  
> Trigger Warning: I’m tired and don’t feel like editing so there’s bound to be mistakes galore. You have been cautioned.  
> Notes: I really needed some fluffy family Winchester Christmas drabbles because I wholeheartedly believe that John was a good father before Mary died and I’m tired of him being portrayed as a villain beforehand.

**__________**

 

A red hot flame illuminated the dimly lit room, save for the Christmas tree lights that flickered along with each crackle. Some presents from Mommy and Daddy Winchester were tucked neatly beneath the evergreen, with a small baby pen blocking their eldest son Dean from tearing off the paper. From the dining room, John smiled at his wife contently as she nursed the newest member of their family.

It was Christmas time in Lawrence, Kansas. The trees and streets were coated in a perfect white comforter that landed about ankle deep (knee deep, if you were Dean). All of the birds and squirrels were tucked away in warm homes while the Winchester family remained snug in their own. After Sam had finished suckling on his mother and had been burped, she cradled him gently in her arms while John got up to catch his little Dean, who had just ran into his arms with a teddy bear and book. Dean was in a small Batman onesie with a spiderman sock on his left foot-only one, because he had a tendency to slip when both sides of his toes had been covered. John had wrapped his large hands around his son’s back, and lifted him onto his knee with an excited squeal and giggle from the young boy. Mary stood in the middle of the door frame, leaning her head against the wood as she watched her little boy shake a red and white book into his father’s face. Of course, John took the book with a grin, cheeks turning pink while joy fluttered in his heart. Dean held his teddy bear tightly to his chest. It was a standard brown bear, which Dean promptly named Robin since he was the mighty Batman.

Robin had on a felt mask that Mary had crafted for his birthday-yes, teddy bears do have birthdays-that Dean had insisted he need. Besides the mask, Robin’s eyes were made from two small black buttons, and a stitched on brown nose. His stomach was rather stout, despite the needlework that had repaired him from a bully who decided to play tug-of-war with Dean over the stuffed bear. Dean was absolutely devastated when his favorite toy seemed to be ruined. He cried until his teacher called John to pick him up. Being the caring father he was, John had gone and picked up his little boy. Dean had cried the entire ride home in John’s ‘67 Chevy Impala. But John just turned on some classic rock; which seemed to be a soothing mechanism for the both of them. When they got home, John had gotten Dean out of his carseat and carried him inside. Dean was still sobbing, his little face red as a cherry, but good ‘ole John knew what to do. He informed Dean that he was a teddy bear doctor--even showed him an ID to prove it! So, he grabbed a small blue blanket that Dean used to be waddled into when he was a baby, and laid it out on the table. He gently took the teddy bear from Dean, correcting his posture when Dean chastised him for being far too rough. Dean had runoff to grab his bear a pillow for its head, quickly rushing back over to plop it on the table. John then pulled out Mary’s old sewing kit. She had tried her hand at the craft, but she wasn’t very good. John always teased her about it whenever he wanted to mess with her, but she’d only blush and kiss him to shut him up. John withdrew the needle from the cushion that it was pushed into and pulled some thread through the loop. “Dawdie?” Dean began to ask, his voice cracking from his emotions. “Yes Dean?” John had responded, pulling out a chair so he could sit and work on the bear. “Ees woben gona huwt?” John chuckled softly and pulled Dean onto his lap.  “He won’t feel a thing, but you should probably hold his hand. It might make him feel better.” Dean didn’t hesitate, holding onto Robin’s paw softy. John was careful not to hurt Robin while he patched him up. It hadn’t taken long, and soon enough Dean was running around the house with Robin flying at his side.

Dean had curled onto his father’s lap, leaning his head against the bigger man’s large torso. He had handed his father a small picture book titled ‘A Night Before Christmas,’ which was currently his favorite thing to be read at the moment. Dean loved when his father read to him; he’d do all of the character voices and everything! While Dean shifted in his lap, John looked over at Mary, who was now crossing the hall to sit next to him while she held onto Sam. When everyone was settled, John cracked the book open, showing everyone the pictures while Mary muttered something to Sam about all of the pretty colors. “ ‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…” Dean had fallen asleep by the second stanza, but Mary urged John to finish the poem, and he did, because he knew it was her favorite.

After John had finished reading the story to Mary and a sleeping Sam, he closed the book and gently set it onto the table before picking Dean up into his arms. He stood up and placed a gentle kiss on his wife’s head before carrying his son to bed. He tucked Dean snugly under his monster truck sheets before retreating to walk into Sam’s bedroom, knowing Mary would be putting him down as well. When both boys were all sound in their beds, the parenting duo sauntered back into the living room and cuddled close on the loveseat. John had his back against the armrest while Mary laid between his legs, her head using John’s chest as a pillow just as Dean had done previously. John’s arms were wrapped around Mary’s waist, his nose nuzzled into her neck while he pressed soft kissed onto her skin. They sat in that position just for awhile in a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other's company before Mary tilted her head to look at John, who had pulled back once he felt her shift. “What’s on your mind, darlin?” he smiled softly, running some fingers through her hair. She tilted her head onto him, smiling at him lovingly. “I still think we should do elf on the shelf with Dean.” She hummed, knowing her husband was not a fan of that idea. There was just something about porcelain dolls dressed in mimick green tights that gave him the creeps. “Mary, you know how sensitive the kid is. Don’t you think it’ll scare him?” John inquired, knowing that his tactics weren’t going to change his sweetheart’s mind since it had already been made up. “He’s not you, dear.” Mary chuckled, pinching his cheek softly at her jest. John just smiled at her, knowing his cheeks had flushed pink. Mary got off of him, patting his legs softly as she stood.

Some minutes of trifling through some boxes passed before she found the elf. She waltzed back into the living room, presenting her husband with the most magnificent being. John shuddered, looking away from the horrid creature. Mary just shrugged it off, and went into Dean’s room. She gently placed the elf on Dean’s dresser before walking over to her sleeping son and kissing his forehead before stepping out once more. She then returned to her previous position with John, the both of them soon falling asleep together.

A shrill scream erupted the parents from their slumber, followed by several exaggerated sobs. It was almost as if Dean’s rabbit had been ripped again, though the parents hadn't suspected that. Nonetheless, the parents immediately rushed over to his bedroom. John went for Dean, while Mary went to grab Sam, who had been woken up from Dean’s screaming. John scooped Dean into his arms, asking him what was wrong. Dean only pointed at the elf. John carried Dean out of his bedroom, soon followed by Mary with Sam. The small family sat on the sofa, John cuddling Dean close while he stained his shirt with snot and tears. Once Dean recuperated, his parents spoke to him softly. “What’s wrong, honey?” Mary asked, her voice smooth but ringing with concern. Dean nuzzled in closer to his father, who tightened his grip so Dean would feel more secure. “The elf scared him.” John smirked over at Mary, sending her an, ‘I was right’ look. Of course Mary returned this look with a death glare of her own, quickly wiping John’s expression clean off of his face.

After some time of coaxing, both parents were able to get Dean relaxed and happy again. Mary had ‘won’ Dean’s happiness over John. Not that it was a competition--just that she liked being the ‘better’ parent. She and Dean had made a pie, both of them getting covered completely in fruit during the process. Dean had wanted a cherry pie, so that was what they had made. Mary was covered up to her elbows, while Dean’s entire mouth, cheeks, nose, and onesie were stained with red. While the pie baked in the oven, Mary had taken Dean in for a bath while John tended to Sammy. They were rather good at switching parental duties, they clicked rather well. Once the tub was drained and Dean was in clean clothes, Mary and Dean served the family each a slice of pie, repeating the process of getting their skin stained once again. While Mary had Dean distracted, John took it upon himself to get rid of the elf once and for all. And all was merry afterwards.


	8. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically another installment of "John was a good father before Mary died." I just have a lot of feelings for happy!Winchesters, okay? Don't judge me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: [Mary Winchester, John Winchester, young!Dean Winchester, young!Sam Winchester]  
> Pairing: [John and Mary Winchester]  
> Word Count: 1138  
> Prompt: Spring  
> Rating: PG/T

                                                                                                                                    ---

 

The sky above looked as if it had been painted over and back again with each sun kissed color in imagination. Orange, pink, purple, and blue. The sun itself was a deep yellow, surrounded in an orange ring. It rose above the horizon slowly, waltzing past the Earth in their little dance from light to dark. Painted in shadows against the sun rays were trees of varying heights grew. The creeks by the house in Lawrence, Kansas had fogs of mist delicately gliding across the surface. 

 

Inside said house was a family of four. A war vet of the Marines, a stay-at-home mother, a six year old boy and a four year old. The parents had their hands full. Dressing two young boys was never an easy task when the oldest didn't set a proper example. One parent would have to hold him in their arms while the other tried to put clothes on him. Currently, the parenting duo had gotten their eldest, Dean, into a pair of light blue coveralls and a red and white striped shirt. He had camo socks on (John had found them on SALE and insisted his boy needed a pair) and a pair of light up velcro sneakers. The youngest, Samuel, was in a matching set of coveralls, though he wore a plain white shirt with yellow cartoon chicks scattered around. John took Dean into his arms while Mary held onto Sam, the parents carrying their children out to their car and fastening them in their carseats. Today was going to consist of various spring activities. Mary had decided that she wanted her boys to have good childhood experience, and since her husband John was a sucker for seeing her happy, he went along with it. 

 

John drove his family to their local park where an event was being held for the younger kids. John helped Dean get out of the Chevy Impala while Mary got Sam. The parents took the hands of their small children and began to walk them down the sidewalk, pausing to let Dean splash in the puddles and soak John’s ankles. The family walked along the sidewalk leading through the large cherry trees that were now at full blossom. Petals of light pink fluttered throughout the gentle breeze, swirling like a Van Gogh painting. Some would dust on Dean’s fuzzy head and his clothes, doing the same for the rest of the bystanders down the walkway. Some brown squirrels poked their heads from their holes in the large oak trees just off to the side, and whenever one would scurry down from its home, Dean would pull on John’s hand to try and chase them. This always resulted in John pulling his son back, eventually picking him up to prohibit his little legs from carrying him too far away. Dean’s cheeks were flushed pink, and his arms wrapped around his  father’s neck.

 

Soon, the family had approached their destination in the park: a petting zoo for all of the kids and babies to pose with animals in their similar situation. Looking back, it was only just a photo opportunity for their parents, but it was well worth the twenty dollars if it meant they could frame the photographs on the wall. Mary and John held the boys in line, which mainly consisted of them babbling about not understanding why everything was taking too long. 

 

“Whuy do wee need to weight hewe, dawdy?” Dean asked his father, wide innocent green eyes fluttering to question his seemingly questionable antics.

 

“Because we’re going to see baby animals,” John tried to explain, looking over to Mary for help only to receive a blush and a smile.

 

“Bwut I’m bowed!” Dean protested, bouncing in his father’s arms.

 

John hummed for a moment, looking over at his wife once more for help. She just stared at him with a playfully challenging gaze, waiting for him to make his next counterargument against their six year old. Apparently there was no way to win this between his sucker of a wife and his impatient son. “Tell you what, Dean,” John’s southern accent was thick as he spoke. “If you can be good ‘n let us take some pictures of you ‘n Sam with the baby animals, we’ll go out ‘fer some ice cream after this.” That was enough to shut Dean up--for the time being.

 

Slowly, the Winchester family made it into the pen with all of the the small animals. Mary and John carried their little ones inside, the workers closing the gate so they wouldn’t be bothered by the other brats of Kansas. The parents gently lowered their children to the floor, Dean instantly racing towards the bunnies and scaring them so that they ran around the cage. He cried when they left him, and he didn’t understand why they would. Sam on the other hand sat by all of the fluffy yellow chicks. The adventurous ones would turn their heads and fly on Sam’s knees. One soon flapping to his shoulder and then to his head. He was covered in chicks, giggling happily while Dean cried until he was given a bunny to hold. The bunny was white with black spots, named Baby since she was the runt of the fluffle. 

 

The photographer took a few photos of Sam and Dean, soon getting a group shot of all four members of the family. Dean held Baby in his arms, Sam held chicks in the palms of his hands, Mary held a little lamb, and John had his arms wrapped around Mary, his chin resting on her shoulder. 

 

After the photos, Dean had caught sight of FREE pony rides, and he had instantly started directing his father that way. It was a Shetland pony named Dolly. She was about eleven in human years, and the best thing Dean had ever seen. So, of course, Mary insisted they get in line and John followed her orders. Sure, he had been screamed at by Marine Corps drill sergeants, but nothing scared him more than an angry wife, so he obliged

 

Sam and Dean got their turn on Dolly, giggling the entire time they did. Sam sat in front, closest to the horn of the saddle while Dean sat behind him. The owner of the pony lead them around the field, soon returning them to their parents after they had gone around three times.

  
At the end of the day, the boys were exhausted. Mary and John had to carry them back to the car, and the second they had started down the road, the boys had been fast asleep. When they got home, John and Mary had tucked their sons into their beds, knowing that the next morning they would be hounded for the ice cream that their little Dean had earned for “good behavior.” 


	9. Angel's Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember writing this, but I think I finished it so idk man enjoy this garbage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: [Lily Sunder{mentioned}, Ishim{mentioned}, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel]  
> Word Count:  
> Rating:  
> Trigger Warnings: None  
>  Spoilers for 12x10: Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets  
> Notes: Dean finds out about humans possessing enochian magic from what Sam tells him. After the battle between Lily and Ishim, Dean talks about how being an angel really isn’t that hard. Castiel bets him otherwise.

**\---**

 

Castiel is bloody, beaten, and bruised. But he did what was right; and he took away the final blow for Lily. All she wanted was revenge, to get back at the piece of filth that lied to the other angels, who took away her child--killed, her child--just because she left him with a broken heart. That’s why humans were so dangerous to the angels, because they had control over whatever they felt, they had done it several times over. Angels, on the other hand, were infants in this respect. The angels never had to handle love, and loss. They were rarely on earth, and because of that there was no need to expect any emotion to bubble in what could only be their vessel’s heart. Angels were celestial beings of light, after all. 

 

Lily Sunder felt no regret at this, however. She knew that Isham had played Castiel and all of his fellow soldiers. Castiel had just the right to stab Ishim through the chest just as he had burned the life out of Lily’s daughter--her human daughter. The parting between Lily and Team Free Will wasn’t vengeful. Lily and Castiel understood each other. They understood the depths at which the other had been mistreated, and though it would be believed that she would grab a blade and jolt it through Cas for his participation, she did not. They shook hands, and disappeared to their own vehicles. 

 

Back at the bunker, after the drinks had been downed and the men were discussing further plan of action, Sam mentioned what Lily had said about possessing ‘enochian magic.’ 

 

_ I've studied angels all my... very long life. I use their magic to fight, to hear them, to stay alive.  _

 

_ Enochian magic. That's...possible?  _

 

_ It is if you're willing to pay the price of admission. Every time I use one of their spells, a piece of my soul burns away. And once it's gone... _   
  
Dean chuckled at hearing the words “enochian magic.” It was absurd, angels were powered by their grace, not some make believe spellbook and blind faith. Faith was for wusses-despite his faith in his angel--just a load of crap that had been forced down humanity’s throats for decades to get into some form of Nirvana for a “perfect” afterlife. 

 

“Right, enochian magic. Well right after that, why don’t we braid Sam’s hair and use the ‘enochian magic’ to turn him into a frog.” He nudged Sam’s side with his elbow, “Better yet, why don’t we fill you up with it and cure you from all the demon juice pumpin’ through ya?”

 

Sam groaned in response, straining a forced smile for his brother so he wouldn’t know it troubled him. “Containing ‘enochian magic’ is no easy task, Dean. It is extremely powerful and without proper care it can cause mass destruction.” Castiel spoke up.

 

Dean shrugged it off, “I could handle it, as easy as pie.”

 

“You wouldn’t last a day, Dean.”

 

“Oh really?” Dean chuckled.

 

“Want to bet on it?” Castiel asked, tilting his head to look at Dean with a serious expression.

 

“Yes.”

 

\---

 

Dean clenched his head in his hands. Voices were swarming back and forth, and Castiel stood in front of him with his arms folded across his chest, smirking while he watched Dean try to handle everything that was being thrown at him. Over the course of the next few months, Castiel had taught Dean everything about channeling the enochian words and how to understand them. He gave Dean all of the history and showed him how they worked, and now he had just shared a bit of his grace with the Know-It-All. It was now Dean’s turn to hone his skills and take flight for the first time. What could possibly go wrong?

 

Everything. Everything could go wrong.

 

It had started out all fine and dandy, Dean mostly teleported to different places to get pie. Unfortunately, he miscalculated practically everywhere that he had planned to land, and would almost always end up crashing through the roof of a building--or through its walls--sometimes he wasn’t at the right place altogether. 

 

Luckily, Dean was able to heal himself, and he used that power a LOT. Probably more than Castiel had ever healed him previously. 

 

Dean did other things besides steal pies. He found a few demons to smite, traveled different places to “check out the scenery” of the local….gentlemen's clubs…..and cured a few illnesses. There was this one case however, that hurt him the most. There were these two men, one sitting on the lap of the other and staring down at a small baby in his arms. They were happy, ecstatic that they could finally bring their bundle of joy home from the hospital. She was beautiful, a small button nose and piercing blue eyes. She had the perfectly plump lips, and her cheeks were just a tad too chubby to accentuate her level of adorableness. But all he could hear was clock ticking in his ears. Angel radio was going absolutely mad over the baby. To the new fathers, their baby would be gone the next morning. She’d be up in Heaven, and the angels were going to train her to be a warrior. And it stung Dean’s heart. 

 

 ---

 

At the end of the day, Dean returned to the bunker, upset and tired after all of his endeavors. He couldn’t carry the weight on his shoulders like Castiel did, and it was clear to him now why Castiel cared so much about humanity.

 

“How’d it go?” Castiel asked, a hint of ‘I told you so’ in his voice.

  
“Horrible.”


	10. Ode to Balthazar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another thing for Unnatural Writers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by: CasDean?  
> Character: [Balthazar]  
> Word Count: 1,368  
> Rating: M  
> Prompt: Nightingale  
> Full Poem: http://www.bartleby.com/101/624.html  
> Trigger Warnings: drinking, loneliness, regret, basically just sad in general, and one somewhat bad word  
> Notes: Balthy doesn’t get enough recognition so this one is for him. Also, I highly recommend you all listen to Benedict Cumberbatch reading Ode to a Nightingale because hONEY IT IS AMAZING! 
> 
> Also I'm posting this before editing because I am unprofessional so have fun reading all of my errors.

* * *

 

 

 _MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains. My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,_ _Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains_

_One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:_

 

 

Ice runs up his corsed spine, though his shoulderblades burn with the lingering rash, haunting him like a Phantom. The walls rumble, a low groan emitting from the bowels of his Royal armory. Soon he is gasping, air his most treasured resource now. His throat is tight, finding it hard to swallow down spit to relieve him from the bumps that now line his esophagus. The ice soon shatters as he sits up, another mocking groan emitting from his parted lips, though not nearly as rough as his armory. Behind him, the wings of an angel now scorched into the wood like an artist had carved it. The legs to his vessel are discombobulated, unknowing as how to function. Somehow he is standing, walking, a better accomplishment now that he has figured out the mechanics to breathing. Slowly, but soon all at once. A toddler is a racecar compared to his speed. He is limping, trudging, bewildered and confused as to how he was ever able to manage it before. His wings feel like a distant memory now, like a ghost who constantly passes through, sending his shoulder blades into a freezing chill as his body shakes in remembrance. What was once so futile, is ash, ready to sweep away into the next wind.

 

 _'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot_ , 

_But being too happy in thine happiness,_

_That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,_

_In some melodious plot_

_Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,_

_Singest of summer in full-throated ease._ _10_  

 

The memories soon flood him as if he were looking back on a high school yearbook. Though they are blurry, most likely to clear within time; he is shown the undeniable death he was given. Yet here he was, not reborn, but rebuilt. He stumbles to an old wooden stool, the drink now sour as it seeps down his throat. More time passes; more memory is revived. He had stolen Her Royal Armory, for the sake of protecting the earth. He is condemned by his brothers and sisters. They want total destruction, an obsolete world. What is so flourished is nothing but a cockroach to the mighty entities. They do not appreciate the art, or history. They do not appreciate the breakthroughs in science. If it means the murder of their once highly favored brother, they will amount to no means to destroy the planet he is headstrong on conquering. That was why Balthazar left. Earth was his safe haven from all of the arguments.

As Balthazar approached his stool of alcoholic sin, the rays of the sun glittered against the windowpane, highlighting all of the dust that had collected in his fretful attempt to hide away. He turned, observing the way the light caught and blinded him against the glass. On the outside, sat a magnificent bird on an oak tree branch. The bird’s head tilted, almost as if it were beckoning Balthazar’s wondrous gaze to approach and examine its magnificent wings in person. Though they silently communicated, the bird seemed to understand the longing on Balthazar’s now weightless shoulders. The disappearance of his wings, rendering him helpless to flight. Their communication seemed to almost be an apology, of one understanding the other's’ loss.  Without wings, the birds of a feather are utterly different. Safe versus fearful.

Balthazar exited his mighty--now wretched--abode. He lightly treated against the shortly cut grass, insistent on meeting the divine creature. The one who seemed to understand him the most. As he approached the forest that the bird hid inside, the bird recognized his unimpressed demeanor with the trees and wind. She quickly took flight, leaving the broken angel amongst the trees. He watched her fly, feeling the presence of his wings trying to lift his feet off of the ground and into the sky. She was so weightless, so free and quick. She sang to Balthazar her mysterious song; was she mocking her wingless brother? Or was she trying to soothe his ghostly wings into a much needed rest. Her lullaby was enough to distract him as she soared overhead, the disappearance of his wings now weighing him down less and less. She was soon invisible, having flown off to her other appointments, leaving Balthazar amongst the silence of the trees, save for the occasional crunch of leaves as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

 

 _O for a draught of vintage! that hath been_

_Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,_

_Tasting of Flora and the country-green,_

_Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!_

_O for a beaker full of the warm South!_ _15_

_Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,_

_With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,_

_And purple-stainèd mouth;_

_That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,_

_And with thee fade away into the forest dim:_ _20_  

 

Balthazar soon returned back inside, now lighthearted. He approached his living room, finding himself frozen as he stared at what once was, but would never be again. The reminder, that damned constant reminder of how magnificent he was, now gone rogue and meaningless. How quickly he had fallen in his pecking order, distracted by his own safety and free will of peace amongst his family, and how quickly they were to turn against him. He once was an honored soldier, but now he scooped their muck. His cheeks found themselves to be stained by tsunami tides, one just rolling after the other. The hands to his vessel now shook as if he were an earthquake. Quickly, he searched to numb his pain, grabbing the bottle of the sour drink. He chugged, the once sour drink now tasting of smokiness, and soon turning sweet of the scotch waltzing down his barren ballroom. As the drink was chugged, the bubbles popped against his deserted mouth. The bottle was soon barren as well, quickly being chucked against the wall, splattering into tiny dew drops of glass which impaled the floor where each fragment landed. As quickly as he had warmed, he was frozen again, and soon he was back to where he started, laying on the floor with his wings to outline his body.

  
  
  
_Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget_

_What thou among the leaves hast never known,_

_The weariness, the fever, and the fret_

_Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;_

_Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,_ _25_   

 

Balthazar lay there, cold and alone. He had lost all control of his movement, barely able to wink. He wait patiently as he felt his vessel age, quickly turning from a handsome young man, into an old, weary, sick version of himself. He quickly remembered the times of when he took his wings for granted, of when he was able to fly far, far away against the roaring wind underneath his mighty wings. The way he could spread them between the clouds and swirl them the way a machine swirls soft ice cream into a perfect cone. He even missed the times when he would molt. It had been painful, but he had always basked in the refreshing feeling of strong, powerful wings that could make thunder shiver in fear with each flap of his gargantuan structure.  He remembered how he would fear if this time had ever come, the disembodiment of his wings. But here it was, and he could feel himself roaring once again with realization. He was not reborn, but living his final seven minutes on his Father’s glorious creation. He lay there now, an old man, watching as half of his body had wasted away into nonexistence. It wouldn’t be long now until he was just a distant memory, leaving behind the legacy of a traitor to Heaven. Gray hairs now fell off his scalp, and soon he was gasping his last breath of the fresh, cool air. He was completely faded now, dying in jealousness of that Nightingale who was able to fly away from his atrocity, wishing he could have done the same.

 


	11. The Drive-In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo party people!
> 
> This work is released into the world because my friend told me that I should write smut because I let her read one of my Destiel drabbles.
> 
> The first half of the work is mainly just imagery, to kind of set the mood. I'm going to be sectioning the work off so those of you who don't want to read the smut part can just read up until that point. And hey, if you're just here for some smut, that's cool too. 
> 
> I changed the rating of this series to Explicit because of this installment. I have no idea how to make individual chapters come with the 'this chapter might have adult content' warning, so this is your warning!
> 
> Proceed with caution, my friends!
> 
> As always, feel free to leave me a comment with some requests!

The pale moonlight illuminated Castiel’s burned silhouette. It contrasted against the tan of his skin, allowing the shadows to contour the low points in his face; under his cheekbone, his forehead, the sides of his nose, and his jaw. The light glistened with each glint in Castiel’s eyes. What were normally a bright, clear sky blue were now a deep, almost abyss-like color. His charcoal hair was askew as it rubbed underneath Dean’s chin. It was knotted, curled upwards at his forehead like an ocean had been covered in ash, but managed to create high perfect waves despite the pollution. If his hair was anything to go by the ocean, then his lips were the Red Sea. Those perfect, parted lips flashing a gummy smile. His tongue the sand that got everywhere--the sand that Dean wouldn’t mind getting everywhere. Cas’ teeth were the seashells, captivating. The way he just smiled so carelessly, so easily that they eroded with each crash and somehow lightened even more, making Cas’ features the perfect embodiment of finding beauty in the most simple things.

    Cas’ usual trenchcoat was the blanket harboring Dean from going out to sea. If he had lost it, if it had flown away in the wind, Dean could run after it and catch it. But it wasn’t. It was anchored by flip flops and sunscreen and the change of clothes and buckets on each corner to keep the breeze from carrying her far, far away. If only Dean could remove the excess weight, but he couldn’t. Cas’ legs were resting gently on the seat of the car. Dean didn't care. If it made him comfortable, if it meant that Dean could be pressed against a perfect argument that had never surfaced because Dean would get too lost in the art of Castiel to painting of forces pulling and pushing against each other, then he wouldn’t care.

And then there was Dean. The worn wood surrounding this work of art. His hands slid along Castiel’s arms, encompassing him into the large framework of Dean’s body. The security, the strength. The object that would graciously pin him up against a wall if only he were given the chance. If the artwork fit. It would. It had to. Dean was empty compared to the content that made up Castiel. If it were possible to reach through a person and touch the molecules that made them up, a hand would just go straight through him. Just like an empty canvas frame. With Castiel he would be complete, they would fit together like pieces of a puzzle, one after the other, the movements of starting with the border, to the sides, and then completely as one.

    Castiel shifted against Dean’s stiff body, adjusting to watch the screen below. That motion helped Dean resurface from his delicious daydream of Castiel’s body, bringing him back to the now. He looked around, realizing that his arms weren’t framing his artwork against his body like he thought he was. As Cas got comfortable, Dean refocused on where they were. Currently, they were laying (well, Cas was, Dean was slouching as he sat) in the back of the Impala. It was just the two of them, parked on some cliff that overlooked a tremendous view in the daylight. They had come here to watch the sunset, the abstract brush swipes of purples, oranges, peaches, and blue all dulling in comparison to the way Castiel could make the fountain of youth jealous at his perfect complexion. Somehow, Dean had been blessed by Castiel’s presence, like he had just won the lottery when Castiel absentmindedly leaned over and curled against him. Harmonious.

The sunset turned to the evening, and both gentlemen hadn’t broken their comfortable silence in fear that it would scare away another moment like this from arising. They were both ill with Skinnylove, a condition in which both parties were so helplessly infatuated with the other, yet kept the three simple words from rolling off their tongues. There was nothing to fear, as they would reflect fifty years or so later down the line, but in this frozen moment in time, they had yet to find out. A slight huff from Castiel brought Dean back once again, sitting up a bit straighter and puffing his chest out, making Cas grunt as he was jolted from his comfortable position. And once again his forgetfulness that they weren’t actually together overcame him, and Dean wrapped his frame around Castiel, pulling him closer--landing him on top of his lap. The action hadn’t fully registered until he felt the new weight on top of him, but it was much more comfortable in the long run. He could feel the heat of Cas’ eyes staring through him, taking in each movement that Dean made, counting each time his breath hitched and each time Dean’s nose would scrunch as he desperately tried to keep himself from bursting into a joyful song and dance. He was tempted to lean his head back and mouth ‘thank you,’ to the Heavens, but more pressing matters were at hand: Not looking Castiel in the eyes. That would only bring up a conversation, and Mr. Suave was not about to out himself to this remarkable being.

Dean’s attention soon flickered into the distance. A wide screen had been built just before they had gotten to their spot, concession stands and food trucks soon budding off to the side like their seeds had been carried and pollinated, ready to start a new generation. Some cheesy old-fashioned horror film was playing on screen in black and white. If he listened carefully he could just barely manage to make out the whispered screams--if it weren’t for Cas’ breath in his ear. In front of the wide screen were a few blankets with people laying on them. Mostly the good, religious teens who were terrified of touching the other. Those brats had no idea what it was like to want to touch someone so badly, to feel them, to understand the rough and smooth parts of their skin--in public. Those brats had that luxury, Dean did not.

As Dean tried to hide from Castiel’s watchful eye, he felt the softness of Cas’ cheek press against his own, tiny strands of hair tickling the corner of his eye while he readjusted to being on Dean’s lap. Though Castiel was the beach, Dean was the universe. Of course he wouldn’t think so highly of himself, but Castiel couldn’t help but realize it from carefully studying him. Dean was a light source, a radiant, luminescent, out-of-this-world type of force. He was hot, reckless, yet his power seemed to go overlooked--by himself, and Cas--by the sheer volume of him. His freckles dotted his nose like stars, the small constellation just begging for Castiel to lean in and plant gentle kisses across. Dean’s eyes were Saturn, the infinite emerald loops getting lighter, glossier, with each ray that illuminated them. Not to mention the ridges that sliced up and down his lips. They were dry, thirsty for a touch that Cas knew he could ever so easily feed to him. He wanted to shower Dean with his lips, to brush them against each other and combine them into one, ultimate being--if only for the night. Castiel wanted to worship Dean’s body as it should be, not torn apart from whatever horrendous act that fate would send his way. Cas wanted to slip his hands underneath the gentle fabric of Dean’s shirt, to murmur words of endearment into his ear and tell him how beautiful he was. How astounding he was. Cas would jump aboard a shuttle if it meant being able to to just glide his fingertips against the velvet of his skin, just barely out of reach from touching the deity.  

Fear was irrational, and Castiel kicked himself a thousand times over for being too afraid to do anything about his silly little crush. He wanted to tell Dean, honest to God; but everytime Dean had to wear that damn leather jacket--it was just enough to make him babble like a toddler. Yet, there was some force that told him otherwise. To do whatever he could to just somehow taste Dean’s sweet, sweet skin. So, in an act of the spur-of-the-moment idea, Castiel took his index finger and tapped it against Dean’s cheek. He pushed his finger so that Dean’s wondrous, solar system eyes looked curiously against the horizon of his own. Cas studied as Dean’s lips parted, almost in a gasp at the evidently nonexistent proximity between them. Dean’s voice hitched as Castiel leaned in closer, trying to breathlessly call his name, only to have it seep down into an almost pre-pubescent hiccup.

* * *

 

Cas’ eyes flickered between Dean’s eyes and mouth, almost as if he were asking permission. Dean hadn’t moved, too surprised to make any indication for him to pull away, and then Dean’s eyes were closing in the euphoric heat. Cas’ legs repositioned so that he was hovering above Dean’s lap, giving easier access for Dean to wrap his frames around Cas’ waist and pull him closer, humming against his mouth as he did so. Cas cupped Dean’s jaw into his hands, tilting his head up to deepen their kiss even further. At the adjustment, Dean exhaled gently against Cas’ lips, one hand sliding up to tug at his tangled locks, earning the chance to slip his tongue into the sea when it had moaned--like holding a seashell to his ear--gliding his tongue across the roof of his partner’s mouth. Cas reciprocated in kind, sucking Dean’s bottom lip into his mouth,teeth skimming over the soft skin. Pleasantly surprised at the reaction given when Cas’ hair was pulled, Dean tugged more, quickly rewarded by Castiel slipping his tongue further into his mouth; hot and slow, tongue lapping at the roof, the sides, and gliding against Dean’s own, playing over and over again like a popular song on the radio.

Cas’ tongue made one more round before pulling out, sucking across Dean’s lips before releasing him into a groan, trailing his mouth down the corner of Dean’s lips, softly kissing his chin, his jaw, all the way to his earlobe, which he sucked into his mouth, nipping playfully at yet another one of Dean’s exhales. Just like the sand getting everywhere, that’s where Cas’ lips traveled. They had now found their way sucking along Dean’s neck, his chest rising and falling heavily at the excitement. Cas’ head raised back up, gaze flickering with Dean’s. Silence fell between them, quickly broken by smiles and soft chuckles that seemed to go ten miles wide.

Neither one of them spoke during the kiss, in fear of ruining the moment. There was nothing to say either, besides the obvious L-word that would roll off of Dean’s tongue if it wasn't preoccupied. Cas slid his body down so that his chest was pressed against Dean’s, bodies intertwined just like the tangles in their hair. The frames that made up Dean's arms had settled on resting lazily on the small of Cas’ back, slowly sliding their way underneath the blanket that was his trench coat. Stealthily, Dean turned them over in the backseat of his Impala. His grip held Cas in place, switching so that the art could be pinned against the seat, which would be as close as they could get to a wall.

“ _Cas_ , I-” he was interrupted by another kiss, a soft, reassuring nod pressed against him. The weight shifted to his lap as Castiel sat up, taking Dean's hands and guiding them to remove the trench coat. As quickly as it took to lay out the weights of the blanket, they were gone within an instant. The wind had yanked the blanket, twirling her throughout the breeze and into the storm. Then came the ridiculous sandstorm, shirts flying to the front seat like they had been swept up into a tornado.

Castiel stared enchantingly at Dean's body, hands quickly sliding all around his toned chest. His hands wrapped around Dean's shoulders and neck, tugging him closer with each lingering second. Their heated kiss rekindled in an instant. Cas sucked Dean's lips into his mouth, a smirk pulling on the corners of his lips at Dean's instinctive reaction to part them. Their tongues slipped together again, hot and slow just as before, fucking the other’s mouth.

Dean's hands slid down to Castiel’s waist, pawing at the fabric against his ever growing arousal. Taking a lesson from Castiel, Dean sucked down his chin to his neck, sucking a deep purple ring onto his skin. He pawed more at the fabric, studying gloriously as Castiel's chest heaved with each muffled moan he tried to keep. No one was around. All of the teenagers were watching the movie underneath them trying to get action of their own, they had time.

“ _Dean_ …” yet another word of affection was broken by a kiss. His voice faltered as he felt Dean's hand push beneath the fabric of his jeans, rubbing the length that was now painfully pressed against it. Of all the days to go commando, he was thankful for this. “ _Mmm_!” Cas hummed, finding Dean's tongue slip into his mouth all over again. Dean nibbled gently on his bottom lip, tongue lapping up the roof of his mouth. Dean's hot breath coated the area, sending shivers coursing all over his body, the butterflies freezing at his touch.

Dean made sure to add pressure as he stroked Castiel, rewarded by feeling Cas buck his hips into Dean's hand, adding on to the pleasure he was receiving. The moans Cas released were phonographic. If someone had driven by they’d have thought some professional filming was going on. Cas’ moans were enough to make Dean hard, let alone the fact at knowing he was the one who caused such symphony. Their kiss was soon broken again by Dean's excitement. He started pressing soft kisses between Castiel's pecks, down to his bellybutton. His gaze met with Cas’, who nodded almost beggingly for Dean to go lower--much lower. And Dean obliged, slipping his hand out from his pants and undoing the fasten, pulling Cas’ jeans down to his ankles. He helped pull Cas’ shoes off, quickly followed by his own, making a thudding noise at they fell to the floor. He then pulled the remaining fabric from Castiel, leaving him bare for Dean to see.

If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, Dean was mind blown. Castiel's body really was a work of art, enough to sell out all of the year's worth of Van Gogh or Da Vinci collections. Dean was left gaping at the masterpiece laid before him, eyes wide at the astonishment. His fingers carefully slid against Castiel's thighs, absorbing the rough skin that was somehow so incomprehensibly beautiful. Dean never thought a man could look the way Castiel did in this moment. So vulnerable, so open, so completely and utterly his. Dean had been so distracted by Castiel's beauty that he hadn't even noticed his pants and briefs sliding down his legs. He had only noticed it when Castiel let out a whine, ogling at the sudden surprise of Dean's length.

 

Bashfully, Dean blushed. He took it as a compliment, seeing as how Cas’ face lit up as well. They watched each other for a moment, almost unbelieving that they had gotten this far. Dean smiled his otherworldly smile at Castiel, leaning back down on top of him and taking control of the situation. He slammed his lips to Cas’, now confident more than ever. Cas’ legs trailed up Dean’s sides, finding sanctuary over Dean's marvelously broad shoulders. Cas’ hands squeezed onto his biceps, moaning as he felt the pure muscle against his grip. Their arousals slid against each other, causing both men to moan as they did. As they rubbed alongside, Dean slipped a finger into his mouth, getting it nice and wet before he teased it at Cas’ heat. 

“ _ Do you mind if I-- _ ”

“ _ Just do it _ !” 

That was all of the encouragement Dean needed, easily slipping his finger into Cas’ heat. And  _ fuck _ , the moan that came from Cas because of it! Dean pumped his finger in and out of him slowly, giving him a chance to adjust and get comfortable. He was tight, which drove Dean up the wall. The speed of his finger gradually increased with each moan that came from Cas. It hadn't taken too long for Dean to find the sweet bundle of nerves, curling his finger as he added pressure with each pump. 

“ _ Another _ .” Cas practically begged, and who was Dean to deny such a simple request? Dean pulled his finger out from Cas, who whimpered at the sudden loss. Dean slipped his next finger into his mouth, getting it slicked up before inserting the two inside of Castiel. He repeated his previous motions, going slowly until Cas was able to get comfortable before speeding up, biting down on his lip with each beautiful moan that escaped him. 

Dean added more fingers the more Castiel begged, finally up to four when he decided that Cas was open enough for him. Before he could position himself at Cas’ entrance, Castiel pulled Dean's hips up to his mouth, smirking at Dean innocently before taking him into his mouth--which was warm. Cas stared at Dean innocently, those abyss-like eyes sparkling as his tongue swirled around his length. He kept eye contact with Dean, adding emphasis each time he sucked him by letting his cheeks hollow. If he hadn't been so distracted on moaning, he would've chastised Cas for being such a tease. 

When Dean was prepped (to the point to where his legs began to shake), Castiel pulled off. Dean had made a disgruntled noise, but quickly picked up from where he had left off. He held onto Cas’ legs as he slid into him, smirking at the feeling of them tensing with the pleasure. Dean waited for Castiel to get comfortable before he settled back on top of him, kissing him sweetly. 

“I don't want to rush this. I want to make it sweet,” Dean blushed, moving his right hand to caress Castiel's cheek; drawing him into a slow, passionate kiss. Their eyes closed into the synchronized movements, smiles making it subsequently harder to press their lips together. As their lips moved in time, so did their hips, rocking against each other slowly, comfortingly. Dean was the gravitational pull that brought Castiel's hips in to shore. The pull of the moon that made each tide rise and fall. Cas’ arms wrapped around Dean's shoulders, feeling him like he was a fresh pool of water, and he hadn't bathed it in days. With each thrust came moans, happy, breathless moans. Their lips pulled apart as they did, feeling the breath of the other on their skin.

The pit of Dean's stomach fluttered as he felt Cas’ walls tighten around his length. He was just as close, though his main priority kept to his partner, wanting him to feel everything all at once. Dean sped up some, feeling himself pulsate inside of Cas, knowing they weren't going to last much longer. And soon enough he was right, his chest becoming splattered with the foam of the waves while he erupted into a galaxy. 

His lips pulled slightly away from Cas when they came, hearing the delicious moans that they both made. He didn't bother trying to work them through their orgasms, as enough had already happened. He then pulled out from Cas, quickly flopping on top of him and planting his face in kisses. Cas giggled in turn, gently taking Dean's jaw in his hand and leaving one final kiss on his lips. 

“ _ We fogged up the windows _ .” Dean blushed brightly, letting his gaze follow Cas’ to look at the surrounding glass. 

“ _ You're forgetting something _ ,” Cas whispered, something about speaking normally seemed to change the mood.

“ _ What _ ?”

Castiel sat up and took Dean's palm in his hand, spreading his fingers apart. He put Dean's hand over the glass and slid it down.

Dean blushed, immediately getting the reference. “ _ That's seriously what you think of after we make love for the first time _ ? _ ” _ he chuckled. Castiel nodded simply, tugging Dean closer. 

“ _ I’ll never let you go _ .”


	12. The Great Cain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically kind of just a Great Gatsby AU type of thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: [Abaddon, Cain, Colette]  
> Word Count: 1,030  
> Pairing: [Cain and Colette]  
> Rating: M   
> Prompt: Red Lipstick  
> Triggers: Great Gatsby feels, Character death  
> Notes: I really don’t have an explanation for this garbage

_ “His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.” -The Great Gatsby _

 

Cain had been hopelessly, recklessly, undeniably in love with the woman who stood before him. He had walked to the end of the earth, flown among the stars, drowned in many oceans several times over just to get her to be stupidly intoxicated in love with him too. Her eyes shown of all the glittering jewels that men would steal for, her lips so perfectly painted on her lips that Da Vinci would be jealous of her remarkable beauty. Her skin was as smooth as fine silk, soft and comfortable to the touch. If Cain were only but the cloth on her skin would he ever feel her enough to get bored of her touch. 

 

She radiated for him. Her smile a thousand times brighter than any sunbeam or sunflower. She walked so carefully with her ballerina slippers, trying to forgive the Earth with each step. Colette was so gorgeous. If she were but a painting he would have her framed and on display for his viewing pleasure. If only he could just grab her and take her, and they’d run away and be happy and in love together. But there was one force that still held him back. Not one of the black shadow that consumed him, that made him want to tear open his chest and rip it out, but of fear. 

 

The Mark played a heavy toll on him, on his heart. He loved the power it provided, of not feeling weak to anyone or thing anymore. It felt like he had won the lottery when he first received the gift of this strength. But now, everything was completely different. He didn’t want the power that the scar had provided him. He didn’t want to just consume himself with the adrenaline that came with slashing demon’s throats and sucking in their sweet, bitter blood.

 

Colette had inched even further now. Her torn white dress flowing in the wind like the branches of a Willow tree. Her breath hit his chin in a soft, warm breeze and Cain could feel his mouth turn dry as her bambi eyes blinked at him innocently. “Please, Cain.” she whispered, and by some miracle he turned to look heavenward and watched as a star darted against the sky. It was then where he realized that he was where he needed to be all along. 

 

He stared down into her eyes, knowing that if he closed the empty space between them that he would be bound to her. He wouldn’t be able to tear himself from her side, never be able to give her anything less than all of his unconditional love. Because she loved him unconditionally. He fell to his knees the first time he told her everything he had done. A weeping mass because he thought that she would leave him if she knew the truth, but she had the right to know, no matter how badly it would crush him if she were to just fade like a stranger in the night. 

 

Colette had never asked him for anything, except for this: to give up his life of evil forever and be with her. And in this moment, the answer would never be clearer. As he stood before her, he knew this moment would last frozen in time. In this moment, he knew he was giving up all of the delicious power that came with the Mark, and he knew that it would all subside with one simple movement. So he leaned down and he kissed her. 

 

She beamed against his lips as they kissed, causing him to do the same. He pulled her closer, one hand moving to her hip, the other to her jaw to deepen their kiss--his promise, to her. To never murder, to never break their agreement. He’ll stop the wars, if she will be his. Cain kissed her with passion, taking in her scent and the touch that he had longed to feel. He was complete, everything he had ever wanted in the entire world was in the palm of his hands, and he could get drunk on it.

 

Suddenly, a darkness loomed over them, and Cain could feel the unsettlement in his heart. As he tried to pull back and glance at whatever it was, the earth had been yanked from his grip, and in one quick motion, the axis of the earth spun and cracked, falling into a pile of sand at his feet.

 

Cain’s mouth hung open, quickly furrowing his brows while his face reddened like wood doused in gasoline and lit with a lighter. 

 

A coy giggle erupted from the shadows, lurking around and haunting him. It manifested behind him, and with an unapologetic voice it said, “Sorry, the devil made me do it.”

 

Cain snapped around, recognizing the voice immediately. Before him stood Abaddon, a grin ten miles wide that could compete with the Cheshire cat. His eyes widened and he felt the burning sensation of the mark just  _ begging _ to defend Colette’s honor.

 

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was frozen, and Abaddon took her chance and stepped up to him, pulling him in and slamming her lips to hers. She was a jealous woman, could never let anything go. And in this action, her red lipstick stain poisoned Cain’s mouth, reminding him of all of the impurities that would never be healed by his lover ever again. 

  
That was the exact second when all good had died out from him. From then on forward he made one final promise to his Colette, and that promise would only be fulfilled by the same blood that snapped her neck. 


	13. A Very Winchester Easter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More happy Winchester vibes: Easter edition

The dining room table was piled with various pastel colors. Soft pinks and blues, accompanied by purples and reds. It would be the very first Easter where the entire family would be able to spend together, and Mama Winchester insisted they go all out for the two small boys. Sam and Dean were always so cooperative, listened well and did what they were told. It was almost hard to believe that they never fussed with what their parents told them, and in an alternate universe, Mary probably would have flown through the roof if they argued so much. But hey, they were good boys, and they deserved this.

 

Dean sat cross-legged on one of the cushioned dining chairs. He was dressed in a Batman onesie, complete with the black cape to match. His arms were stained with each of the colors that were on the table before him, and he couldn’t seem to get enough of it. He even had a pink swipe going down his cheek (thanks to his little brother Sammy) but couldn’t seem to care less. He had been focused on drawing a bat symbol on one of the eggs for at least five minutes, and his Father ended up stepping in to help his boy perfect it. 

 

Sammy, on the other hand, was sitting in his Mother’s lap, watching intently as she demonstrated the art to egg decorating. She used a special crayon to draw zig-zags on the current egg she was working on, which caused Sam to furrow his eyebrows as he studied. When the zig-zags were completed, Mary placed the egg on a spoon and dipped it into the purple dye, pulling it out and flipping it over so that the other side would catch the color as well. Sam’s eyes widened at the incredible discovery, and he quickly reached his hand out for the egg, instantly putting it in front of him and putting a bunny sticker on it. 

 

The rest of that evening was fairly quiet. Dean’s easter eggs were mainly just plain colors, while Sam’s were decorated in mostly stickers. And glitter glue, which was Mary’s way of getting back at John for not taking enough photos. The boys had started getting crabby around nine thirty, so the wonder parents scooped them up and put them to bed, telling them to go right to sleep so that the Easter Bunny would come and pay them a visit. Of course this method was foolproof, and allowed for the parents to clean up the kitchen table so the eggs could dry, and so they could string together the baskets that the Easter Bunny would leave for them. 

 

John put together Dean’s basket. The base was black, and the handle to the basket was yellow. A belt buckle to match Batman’s locked around the front, and he stuffed the basket with fake grass. John then put in a giant chocolate bunny, a toy revolver that Dean had been _ dying  _ to get his hands on, some peeps, and candy galore. He even threw in some comic books for Dean, which were ‘signed’ by his childhood hero. It was the thought that counted, at least. 

 

Mary was the one who put Sam’s easter basket together. Contrasting to Dean’s, the base for this basket was light colors. Soft greens, more pink, purple, and yellow strands were woven around. It did have the same matching handle, though. A glittery purple ribbon was tied around the base, and pink fake grass was put inside. Sam was the sentimental kid, (not that Dean wasn’t) so he tended to drift towards the more softer things in life. Mary put in a bouquet of fake daisies, a stuffed animal of a lamb, a chocolate bunny, and some jelly beans. She also added in a small picture book called The Tale of Peter Rabbit. 

 

When the baskets were finished, the Winchester parents got to work hiding the eggs. Since their sons were still fairly small, they didn’t want to hide the eggs outside yet; besides, there were racoons, and the last thing they would need is to explain while there’s dyed egg remains all over the backyard. Most of the eggs were stuffed in the bookshelves or under couches or tables while others were in harder to reach places. It had to be fair game for both of the boys.

  
  
  
  


The next morning was extremely hectic. Dean was awake first, and since he was up, that meant Sammy was up. Being the amazing older brother that he was, Dean scooped his little brother into his arms and carried him out to the living room where Mary and John were already waiting for them with a disposable camera. Dean dashed over to the table, making Sammy cling to him for dear life as he did. Dean usually got excited with these types of things, sue him.

 

After tearing their baskets apart and eating most of their candy, it was time for the Egg hunt. The Winchester family settled in the living room. As this usually went on in their house, John gave the mandatory safety speech and “don’t steal eggs from your brother” spiel. There was one year where Dean just took all of the eggs, and Sammy had cried the entire time because he didn’t understand why, but that was besides the point. And soon, they were off! Just like race horses, the boys tore across the house. Sam was a bit slower, but that was due to his shorter legs. Dean had instantly crawled over some boxes to reach the bookshelves where he found one of his Batman eggs. 

 

Egg hunting was a difficult task for Sam. Since he was still fairly little, he didn’t have the best balance. He wasn’t able to climb on boxes or chairs like Dean could, so his hunt was strictly to the ground. He was pretty good at scoping the area out, and was able to find his sticker clad easter eggs in no time. Crawling did, apparently, have its own advantages. 

 

Dean, on the other hand, was currently slipping behind the TV in search of some eggs. He could’ve sworn that he had seen one, and he was going to do his best to get it. Unfortunately, sneaking behind the television was no easy task, and though he was small, it was just enough to knock the giant thing over. Sam started crying at the loud bang, and Mary had quickly scooped him into her arms to try and settle him down. John ad gone over to get Dean, who looked petrified of what his father would say, but thankfully, John just picked him up and settled him on the couch next to his mother while he lifted the TV back up. Though John was fairly temper-headed when his wife was around, Dean felt absolutely terrible. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he was convinced that he had just ruined the egg hunt. By some force of nature (Mary’s glare, most likely), he didn’t blow up and scream at his son. It was easter, there was no need to get worked up. 

 

“I’m sowy, dawdy.” Dean sobbed into his cape, watching his father with wide eyes as he made sure the television still worked.

 

John turned around and smiled at him softly, walking over and pulling him into a tight hug. “Hey, don’t worry about it Dean. You got a little too excited, and that’s perfectly okay.” he patted Dean gently on the back, turning to look over fondly at Mary. 

 

When the boys had recovered, Mama and Daddy Winchester had led them around the house to search for the remaining eggs. They did it by playing “Hot or Cold” which helped keep the small boys out of trouble. Once all of the eggs were collected, the boys brought their eggs to the table and counted how many they each had found. Dean ended up being victorious, which once more led Sam to tear up since he _ really _ wanted to win. He couldn’t help being so small, and when he had gotten distracted by Mary shushing him, Dean pushed a few of the eggs he had found over to Sam’s bunch and said, “eye thwink we need a we-count.” to his Father.

 

John smiled softly at him along with Mary, who pointed at each of the eggs as she counted out loud for Sammy to hear. She then recounted Dean’s eggs, and sure enough, Sam had more. “Look at that Sammy! You have the most eggs! You won!” she exclaimed, bouncing Sam on her knee and making him giggle. His fingers spread apart, and he gleefully picked up the eggs and squashed them into the tabletop, hard boiled yolks and their whites splattering everywhere. A chorus of laughter filled the room as Sam giggled at his masterpiece of dyed remains splattered about before he tried to pick some up and eat it, quickly being pulled away by his mother. 

 

“You don’t want to eat that Sammy, that’s bad for you,” she cooed softly, and stood up with him in her arms. “Who wants some pie?” she asked, earning yet another gleeful cheer. At that request, she slipped into the kitchen with Sam.

  
“I’m proud of you.” John whispered to Dean, giving him a gentle pat on the back. 


	14. Vive la révolution!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's really bad lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: [Adaddon, Crowley]  
> Word Count: 492  
> Pairing: [None]  
> Rating: M  
> Prompt: [Cataclysm]  
> Team: A  
> Notes: Does not follow canon-verse
> 
> Word limit was 500

The walls of Hell shattered against the thunder that the steel-toed boots of the Revolutionaries. They were pissed off, tipped to the brim with Her Majesty's same tar black smoke. The obedient warriors took their pitchforks in hand, and stormed throughout the belly of the Almighty Hell. Posters of the King were burned, every operation and deal that he had carried out--terminated. 

 

Any and all attempts to draw the Revolutionaries back only made them stronger, more determined than ever. They were proud to represent someone who could bring Hell back to her former glory, and if anyone could do it, it would be Abaddon.

 

The platoon of Revolutionaries came to a halt, standing before the other army that had met them in the throne room. Before them stood the King of Hell himself in his usual black attire. He kept his usual air of nonchalance, something that he was well known for having. The sea of Revolutionaries parted, and their Queen held her head high as she graced past them; her gaze fixated intimidatingly on the stout demon who dared to even battle her for the rights to reign over Hell. 

 

She was coming so close to what she had always wanted. She could just reach out and take it, she could practically taste it. Just a few more seconds of the typical ‘proper’ behavior, and she’d have his head on a good, old fashioned wooden stake.

 

“Crowley.”

 

“Mentally unstable rat.” 

 

The two had greeted each other with a nod, and upon Crowley’s introduction, Abaddon raised an eyebrow.

 

“That's not very Kingly of you, now is it?” She spoke properly, as if she were mocking him. Her tone rung like a bell to the swarms of soldiers around them, practically screaming out, ‘Is this suitable King behavior?’

 

“You aren't taking my crown.” he stated simply, and Abbadon shook her head.

 

“That may be what  _ you _ believe, Crowley. But, the end is nigh. Lucifer is going to rise, and I will be the one who sees him on his throne. Or have you forgotten? Those Winchester boys seem to take up much of your attention. Seems as though they distract you from your priorities. Did you forget you are the self-proclaimed King of Hell?”

 

Without another word, the Revolutionaries and the Dark army were tearing into each other. Vessels were torn, and frayed. The fallen angels had turned against each other, persistent on seeing their ruler on their well-earned throne. Every dirty trick in the book was used. Spells, bargaining, the souls which hadn't been harvested yet. Those were the instruments used in which their conductors ordered, and the result was bloody. 

  
It was the sign of the times. The final show. There was no escape. Crowley knew that with Abaddon as Queen, there would be no escape. No getting away. He needed to save Hell. So, he took the First Blade and shoved it through her throat. “Vive la révolution, Madame Défait.”


	15. "You're in love. Don't deny it. You've been sighing all day."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloop. Another prompt!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: [Dean Winchester, Castiel, Gabriel]  
> Word Count: 922  
> Pairing: [Destiel]  
> Rating:T but will probably give you feels  
> Prompt: “You’re in love. Don’t deny it, you’ve been sighing all day.”  
> Team A  
> Notes: Because not only do I need Happy Winchester Family, I also need some good Brotherly Love between Gabriel and Castiel.

**_“Hello, Dean.”_ **

 

_ “Hey, Cas.” _

 

**_“Hello, Dean.”_ **

 

_ “Cas, our friend.” _

 

**_“Hello, Dean.”_ **

 

_ “I need you.” _

 

**_“Hello, Dean.”_ **

 

_ “You're like a brother.” _

 

**_“Hello, Dean.”_ **

 

_ “Cas is family.” _

 

**_“Hello, Dean.”_ **

 

\---

 

After everything they had been through, Castiel had never expected to feel this way about him. Though being human did have its perks, like drinking coffee or eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, it still presented confusing feelings. When he was an angel he had never noticed it before, maybe it was because of how Heaven had trained him to be a soldier. Maybe he had been trained to see humans as filth and not how they actually were. Castiel couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something there. It had been repressed, but now that he was free from that burden, now that he had free will, he could finally understand.

 

From time to time, Castiel would visit his brother Gabriel. They usually had what humans called “brunch” together, or go sit in a library or coffee shop to catch up. Gabriel was still in witness protection, and Cas was the only one who knew how to reach him. He wasn’t actually dead, but the illusion that he was kept both of them safe while they visited. 

 

Today, the brothers were sitting in a bakery. Gabriel had secured a booth for the two of them somewhere off in the back, so no one would be able to see them through a window. Every so often, Dean would pick up his phone and call Cas, which would be declined with a forlorn expression and a sigh. At first it wasn’t so bad, but after the fifth vibration of the phone and a sigh, Gabriel just couldn’t seem to help himself.

 

“Something on your mind, Castiel?” He asked nonchalantly, pouring an overabundance of syrup over a stack of pancakes; which once again made his younger brother sigh, knowing that would be the exact same thing Dean would do if he were there.

 

“It’s nothing, Gabriel.” came the solemn response. Cas’ gaze fixated on the plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, though he just poked at it with his fork.

 

“Anything you want to talk about?” chirped Gabriel, who was leaning in intently. 

 

Castiel shook his head. 

 

Being the professional older brother that he was, Gabriel wasn’t just going to allow his younger brother to get away with not talking. It would practically be a crime to do that to Gabe, and he was going to get to the bottom of it this instant. 

 

“You know, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to figure it out eventually.”

 

Silence.

  
  


“Is this about Dean?” He inquired, now leaning in so far that he was standing. 

 

“Gabriel, I really don’t see the point in this.”

 

“So it is!” Gabe sprung up and gave himself a self-five (because he was cool, darn it!) but miscalculated his joy and hit the bottom of the table with his knee. He quickly sat back down, rubbing his palm over the spot that would clearly bruise over later.

 

When he had recovered, Gabriel tapped his index finger to his chin and pretended to think pensively. “Loss of appetite, forlornly looking at your phone...is Castiel Novak in love?”

 

Once again, Castiel sighed. 

 

“Oh come on, Gabriel, this really isn’t any of your business.”

 

“You’re in love!” Gabriel squealed, adding a dream-like tone to his voice. Before Castiel had a chance to defend himself, Gabe held a hand up to his face and shook his head. “Don’t even try to deny it, Castiel. You’ve been sighing all day.”

 

Castiel sunk down in his seat, not wanting to look at the look that would most definitely be on his older brother’s face. “So what?” he mumbled, once again poking the scrambled eggs (which had gone cold) with his fork.

 

“So what!?” Gabriel gasped. “You’re in love! It’s a wonderful thing!”

 

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

 

Gabe’s expression softened. “Oh come on now, Castiel. You don’t mean that.”

 

Cas sighed, which would have gotten him slapped if he didn’t have such a loving and caring brother. “I do, Gabriel. Being in love sucks.”

 

Gabriel tilted his head. “Cas,” he spoke his brother’s name in an air that made him sound as a caring older brother, rather than the Trickster he had formerly known.

 

Castiel dropped his fork and listened to the clink it made once it hit the glass plate. “It does, Gabriel.” He reassured. “Because I know that Dean doesn’t feel the same way about me. Because Dean doesn’t look at me and get butterflies in his stomach. Dean doesn’t have to practice talking in a mirror so that his words won’t get choked up when he speaks to me. Dean doesn’t lie awake at night and wonder about what I’m doing.” he sighed once again and slouched even further. “It sucks being in love. Especially when the person you’re in love with doesn’t realize how special they are.” he grabbed his glass of water and chugged it down. “Being in love does suck, Gabriel, because I know Dean doesn’t hold on whenever we may accidentally touch. He doesn’t imagine all of these crazy scenarios in which we’re together. He doesn’t scribble my last name after his first, and he definitely doesn’t think about me as often as I do him. He doesn’t even have to struggle to not blurt out three stupid little words.”

 

Behind him, a gruff voice cleared its throat, and Castiel’s heart completely sank. 

  
“ _ You’re in love with me? _ ”


	16. Silent Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Dean forgets an important relationship milestone, Castiel gives him the silent treatment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean gives Cas the D ;)

Castiel had been planning their first anniversary for months. He had a playlist of slow songs to dance to, an apple pie in the center of the dining table, complete with candlelight. He even took some advice from an old Cosmopolitan magazine (which Dean always claimed wasn't his) and spread some rose pedals over the carpet for extra pizzaz. The only thing he needed now was Dean, who was running late.

The clock ticked on while Castiel waited for his boyfriend. Maybe Dean had stopped by his brother's house to check up on him. They did have a habit of doing that. It was sweet, usually. Though on nights like this that were important, Cas just wanted Dean home. And so, he continued to wait. 

Hours went by and still no word from Dean. Cas ended up taking the liberty of cleaning up the mess he created, seeing as how it clearly didn't mean that much to his boyfriend anyways. The candles flickered as they were blown out, and the pie heated the cold hands that carried it to the refrigerator. He had officially been stood up by his boyfriend. On their anniversary. Cas shut the stereo off and swept up all of the pedals. All sorts of words were swarming through his head and Dean would be hearing every single one.

It was three in the morning when Dean finally got home. "Cas! I'm home!" he hung his leather jacket on the coat rack and slipped into their living room. "Cas?" a warm smile brewed against his cheeks as he saw his little angel curled up on the sofa in his bunny slippers. His chest was rising and falling slowly, causing Dean to be extra quiet while he turned off lights and put the small embers in the fireplace out. "C'mere teddy bear." he bent down and lifted Cas into his arms. "Let's get you to bed."

The next morning, Dean didn't wake up with added weight on him like he usually did. Now he was uncomfortably weightless, and could feel the cool morning air slip through the cracks of the duvet. "Cas?" he turned to look at his boyfriend's side of the bed. It was empty, neatly tucked. Which was surprising when the next person over is a restless sleeper. Dean pulled the covers off of him and walked out to the living room, finding Cas in a little apron huddled over the stove. He was flipping bacon over with a spatula, quickly earning Dean's arms around him. "Good morning," he hummed into the shorter man's ear. No response. "Babe, I already told you that your morning voice was really hot. There's no need to not talk to me." he chuckled softly. Cas was always so self conscious about his voice. It was fairly deep and gruff, which took a lot of people by surprise upon first meeting.

Not getting a response for the entire morning made Dean uneasy. Usually Cas was all warm and cuddly, but now he wouldn't even acknowledge Dean's presence. Maybe he fell out of the bed again. He had a tendency to do that. So, Dean gave him some space until the early afternoon. They were going to the humane society to pick up a puppy, something that Cas had been begging for for quite awhile. Dean had eventually gotten worn out from hearing "Can we get a puppy now? Now? How about now? Now?" for four weeks in a row. It was an honorable fight. "Hey Cas-?" Dean was waiting by the front door of their apartment. Castiel had approached fully dressed with leash in hand. "Ready to go?" Castiel just reached for the handle and pulled the door open, walking past Dean.

Cas and Dean picked up their puppy. It was a male, chocolate Labrador Retriever with green eyes. Cas had convinced Dean to let him name their first dog Buster, which was an odd name to Dean, but he loved Cas, so he allowed it. The Impala was already puppy proofed, which made Dean thank every God in the book that he had preplanned for the puppy. The first thing it did was pee all over his backseat. Luckily however, he had stacked it with towels and blankets.

Dean: 1  
Buster: A good attempt

When they were back at their apartment building, Castiel and Dean took Buster for a walk around his new neighborhood. It was crucial he get to know the layout, this would be where he'd shit and piss for the rest of his life. The trio walked a few blocks, stopping at a café for something to eat and drink. The passersby would gush at Buster, and he'd roll over on his back in an attempt to get his belly rubbed. Castiel hadn't said a word to Dean, but kept his conversation entirely between Buster and himself. The trio finished at the café and walked back to their apartment. Dean had opened all of the doors for Castiel like he always did, but Cas didn't reach back to hold them for him. Something was definitely wrong. Cas always held the door for him. But apparently Dean had fucked up, and this was Cas' way of letting him know that. 

Cas and Dean got up into their rooms. Cas had let the puppy off his leash once the door was closed, and Buster took off. Cas, on the other hand, picked up a copy of American Gods, and slipped into the den. What the hell was up with him!? Dean bent down to grab Buster's water dish and stood up again, becoming eye level with the calendar. In large, red font read: 1 YEAR ANNIVERSARY!

_Shit._

The memories from last night came flooding back to Dean. He was late. On their anniversary! Cas had told him he had a surprise all planned out, and Dean completely forgot about it! It wasn't his fault that the jewelers shipped his gift to another store three hours away. And even once he got it, Sam had needed his assistance with unloading a piano into his house. Dean had been so tired that he had completely forgotten about Castiel. He was officially the worst boyfriend ever, and he needed to apologize. He slipped into the den, finding Cas reading with Buster sprawled out on his lap. "Cas?" he slowly approached his angered boyfriend. "Can we talk?" no response. Dean sat next to him on the loveseat. "Caaasssssssss!" he whined, and gently picked Buster up to move him to the floor. He then laid down so his head was on Cas' lap. "Handsomest man to ever live?" Castiel didn't even crack a smile. Dean reached up and took the book from him, marking the page and putting it on the coffee table. "Cas, please talk to me." 

Nothing. Dean sighed heavily. He got up and went into their bedroom. Searching through his mountain of dirty laundry on the floor, he found his pants from the day before and pulled out a small black box. This would make Cas talk. Dean pushed the box into his pocket and walked back into the den. He frowned when he saw that Cas had picked the book back up again, but after this, it would be long forgotten. He walked back over to Cas, plucked the book from his hands, and suavely positioned them so that Cas was in his lap. "Hey there Mister Grumpyface." Dean pouted his lips while he talked. Castiel tried to act as if nothing had happened. "I know you're mad at me." he kissed Cas' chin. "And I am so sorry that I forgot," he kissed Cas' jaw. "But I went to get you something and the stupid jewler sent it to the wrong store so I drove three hours to get it and come back but then Sam called and needed help with a piano and time just flew by." he dug around for the black box and presented it to Cas, which got his attention. "I am so sorry, baby. I never meant for this to happen." Cas' eyes were fixed on the box, heart racing. "Will you please find it in your heart to forgive me?" he gave Cas a puppy face and opened the box. Castiel gasped.  
"Will you forgive me?" he pulled the item out from the box and handed it over to Castiel. Cas inspected it, quickly launching upward to plant a wet kiss on Dean's lips. "Of course I do, you idiot!" he kissed Dean again, then settled back to his previous position. "If you look at it closely..." Dean picked up the gift and showed it to Cas. "It has a D on it." Cas took it from him and blushed. "Was the purpose of you giving me this just so you could say that you gave me the D?"  
Dean winked.


	17. Dear, John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Mary and John's love story was is just one big cliché

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by: CasDean? [or Dear, John now lol]  
> Characters: [Dean Winchester{mentioned}, John Winchester{mentioned}, Sam Winchester{mentioned}, Mary Winchester]  
> Word Count: 1070  
> Pairing: [John & Mary]  
> Rating:  
> Topic: Cliché  
> Team: A  
> Triggers: death, depression, starvation, abandonment  
> A/N: this was supposed to be Mary explaining how her and John’s love story was cliché but I get a D for execution on this prompt

_ You lied to me. I was a kid. You promised you'd keep me safe. And then you make a deal with Azazel. Yeah, it saved Dad's life, but I'll tell you something else that happened.  _

 

_ Because on November 2, 1983, old Yellow Eyes came waltzing in to Sammy's room because of your deal. You left us. Alone. 'Cause Dad was just a shell. His perfect wife? Gone. Our perfect Mom, the perfect family was gone. And I I had to be more than just a brother. I had to be a father and I had to be a mother, to keep him safe. And that wasn't fair. _ __   
__   
_ And I couldn't do it. And you wanna know what that was like? They killed the girl that he loved. He got possessed by Lucifer. They tortured him in Hell. And he lost his soul. His soul.  _ __   
  


_ All because of you. All of it was because of you.  _ __   
  


_ I hate you.  _ __   
  


_ I hate you. And I love you. _

_ \--- _

The words Dean spoke jabbed Mary in the chest, twisting the knife and leaving her to bleed. She had completely deflated like an old balloon, withering away into dust, swirling through the chill of the wind. Her complete life source had a shutdown, rebooting when she managed to look her son in the face. He wasn't the same pudgy boy who’d help her bake pies every sunday morning. Her youngest, not bound to her for transportation. No. These were men. Men who had scars on their hearts, damage to their minds, and heavy, dirty souls.

 

They never knew the John that she did. The good, childish, happy-go-lucky guy whose smile could make the stars fall from the celestial abyss up above.  _ Hell _ , he seemed to be the root of their misfortune; and Mary only had herself to blame. The man she knew, the man she loved, was not the same honey dipped in sunshine that her boys had known. Her boys. The same boys who she tried to protect from the cursed life of a hunter. John abused her boys. And she would never live to forgive that. 

 

Her knight in shining armor had turned to rust. He took her favour and burned it at the stake. She was betrayed. She had confided in him. She told him all about the apple pie life that she wanted, but he let that waste away. If only she would have known that that was what he would turn into. She would have never have made that dammed deal, or so she told herself. She was livid. At her late husband, at the way her boys were raised, and at the world for sucking her back into it. She was better off dead. She would have kept good memory of her husband that way.

 

Mary lost her appetite for weeks. Her skin had turned ghostly, her cheeks hollowed with gray shadows permanently painted underneath her eyes. She paced around her dull room in the bunker, constantly checking to make sure that everything was still there like a record on loop. Bed. Desk. Dresser. Bed. Desk. Dresser. Bed...Sam would check in on her every three hours. He’d knock gently on her door as if he was trying not to wake a newborn, offer her a plate of whatever Dean had picked up from a gas station, and asked if she wanted to talk. She never did, but learned later to appreciate the gesture. 

 

Intervention dawned on her. Sam and Dean had paraded into her room, pulling up chairs to her bedside. Eventually, the decision to treat her was made, and Sam gave her a pen and some stationary. The boys left to give her some privacy as she sat down at her desk.

 

_ Dear, John _

_ Long were the nights when my days once revolved around you. Counting my footsteps, trying to sneak out to be with you, again. My father accused me of losing my mind ‘cause he never liked you, but you knew that. But I did. And that's what mattered the most. I miss you, and I love you, but I can't help but to be upset with you. With us. We were doomed from the start. John, do you remember how much we hated each other? I couldn't stand to be around you for five minutes, and I’m sure you tried to sneak out of every room that we both happened to be in. And then, I don't know what happened, we just fell in love. You were the man that I knew I wanted to be with. But our life was a movie. Us starring as the star crossed lovers up against the rest of the world. My father hating every breath you breathed, and me loving it every single time. Then you bought that old Impala, and we ran away together. I had never felt adrenaline like that. Sure, hunting gave me the kick, but you were a whole new level. We made memories in that Impala of yours. Good ones. Really good ones, John. Memories that are only kept between me and you, that have been sealed away in time. But we were reckless, John. We were too dependent on each other. I made a deal with a demon because I couldn't survive without you. Ten years later and we paid the price, John. I ruined the life we always wanted. I ruined our perfect family because of that deal. And we suffered. I died that night, as you’re well aware. Dean told me what you did to them, John. How dare you do that to them. They were boys. Nothing was their fault, but you raised Dean to be your soldier because that was the only thing you knew. You needed that structure. Not Dean. He needed to go to school and join a little league team. Sam needed to be read bedtime stories every night and be tucked in by his father. He didn't need to watch his brother steal food for him, John. You had no right to return drunk and torture them the way you did. Dean should've graduated high school, not hunt with you. You should've been proud of Sam getting accepted into Stanford. He worked his ass off, and where were you? I hate you, John. I hate the way you raised--if it can even be called that--our boys. I hate you. And I love you. _


	18. Black and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the universe ends, Castiel is left a wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: [Castiel Novak, Dean Winchester{mentioned}]
> 
> Word Count: 499 (I tried to add to it, but it would take away the overall beauty of the piece)
> 
> Pairing: Destiel
> 
> Rating: T
> 
> Prompt: When the universe ends
> 
> Triggers: Will probably make you sad

When the universe ends and the stars fall out of the sky, puffy eyes and swollen cherry cheeks will roll dew drops of salt into each barren ocean. An empty heart will be forced to carry on, its owner feeling like half a man at best. Heavy chest, crushed soul, exasperated mind. The weight on his shoulders would be far too heavy for human to bare, but that's why he wasn't made human. No human could carry it, barely one of God's chosen ones at that. There is nothing to compare that weight to. "Why?" the weightlifter's chapped lips will ask; but there will never come a response.  Not when the one who sets his world in motion is gone.    
  
The ghost he will become will be lost. Forever in search of his departed lover. Recklessness will settle in the pit of his stomach. What else is there to care for? The stars will not twinkle, and all the surroundings will be stripped of any color and fossilized into what once was. His ears will ring as the faintest call from his lover makes a fool of himself. He doesn't want to be here. Not if his lover isn't. He wants to be next to him.    
  
Even if the crown of thorns was removed from his disheveled locks, it wouldn't remove the numbness that seemed to overcome his bones. It had felt like all life had left his being; like he was a doll that had been drowned in bath water and pulled out to dry. The soggy feeling which loomed over him. Around him, drops of Jupiter splashed on his weathered trenchcoat; yet, the golden color seemed to darken into it's own windblown abyss. What was the point of joyful colors, if you yourself had not the same fuzzy feeling on the inside? For a moment, a foolish moment, there is something beyond the horizon. The aroma of motor oil and leather traces through the air, a pair of muscular arms pull him back again. He swears he can feel another, that is what his senses tell him, but vision is his only validation, and now most of his life wasn't real.    
  
Just as it was brought to him, the feeling of home was extinguished like a candle in the wind. Nothing matters. Not anymore. Not the PB&J sandwiches that tasted like molecules, or the honey bees who buzzed around trying to find a flower. Nothing really matters. Not when you are in a crowded room and still find yourself lonely. Nothing really mattered to Castiel, when Dean wasn't next to him.    
                                                                                                                      ---   
Thoughts like these consumed Castiel more than he would ever like to admit. It frightened him. It'd make him feel two feet tall. But with Dean the perfect pillow to cling on to, Castiel learned to cherish the time that they had left. So, he'd squeeze a little tighter and hold Dean a little closer. Sure, the universe will end, but not at this moment.    
  



End file.
